Harry Potter and the Years of Rebellion: Part 5
by FPyearsofrebellion
Summary: YoR is an epic post-OotP reimagination of Harry's life, begun in August 2003 and originally posted here 2003-2006.
1. Death Takes No Holidays: draft & outline

**DEATH TAKES NO HOLIDAYS**

_**December 25, 1996**_

Harry sat facing the windows of the Black tower's grand hall, with a cup of cider in his hands and the churning grey sea visible in the distance. Mrs. Weasley had outdone herself, he thought. Not only had she made it a good Christmas, but she had made it _his _Christmas – his first Christmas in a home of his own. Despite that, he was even-tempered at best.

Point the first, Croaker had been right in one thing, despite being so wrong on all others. The idea of admitting that to Croaker was intolerable. Point the second, it seemed that Dumbledore had failed spectacularly not once, but twice: not only had he kept Harry from Madam McIlvaine back in 1981, but he obviously hadn't done anything to secure the McIlvaine's safety. Surely he had known about the agreement, if the McIlvaines were as prominent a family as Mr. Tonks had hinted in his note. The betrothal agreement sat at his bedside, creased at the sides from his handling of it. Point the third, Voldemort was surely on the move. His Death Eaters were seemingly everywhere. Harry's guess in the summertime that Voldemort was down to fewer than fifty supporters seemed far off the mark.

Point the fourth – at least with respect to Harry's mood – was Hermione's visible unhappiness. He couldn't recall a time in years past that Hermione had profoundly missed her parents. Perhaps it was because she had been making a choice to stay away in the past but this time was prevented from seeing them, he thought.

Mr. Weasley stopped next to him. "Rather gloomy out there, isn't it?" he said.

"I've never seen the sea in winter," Harry said. "Is it always like this?"

"It's far stormier here than in the south of England, to be certain," said Mr. Weasley. "May I sit?"

"Please," Harry said absently.

Mr. Weasley sipped at his own cider. "Molly outdid herself for you," he said.

Harry nodded, but then sat up sharply. "Oh! Absolutely, yes – she knows I appreciated it, doesn't she? I mean, I could have said more – "

Mr. Weasley chuckled and said, "Easy, Harry! No one could suffer any doubts there. She loves you as a son, whether you like it or not."

"I like it most of the time," Harry said lightly.

"So what's troubling you, then?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Harry gave a wry grin. "Cutting right to it…"

Mr. Weasley returned the grin. "Despite appearances, I do see what's happening around me. Hermione's out of sorts, but that's to be expected under the circumstances. You, on the other hand…? I've seen you with some correspondence. Did you receive unpleasant news?"

Harry let out a slow breath. It occurred to him that Mr. Weasley might understand, or at least have a sympathetic ear. He also knew that the man had kept his confidences in the past. "I found out that I was betrothed," he said.

"Is that so? Well… it's uncommon in this day and age, at least for we common folk. You do come from a prominent family so I suppose it's possible," Mr. Weasley told him. "I gather that there's something in the terms that allows for a way out? If it were binding, I'd expect you to be far more unsettled."

"It's already been broken, actually," Harry said.

Mr. Weasley said, "Ah. That's good, isn't it?"

"She's dead. That's why it's broken," said Harry.

"Oh. I see," said Mr. Weasley, and then he said nothing for a while. They sat there, cups of cider in hand, and watched the gale come in to shore.

Eventually Mr. Weasley cleared his throat and said, "I can't think of any witches your age who have died recently… not since you've started Hogwarts, actually. Were you betrothed to someone on the Continent?"

Harry began, "Her name was Dierdre McIlvaine. She was –"

Mr. Weasley broke in, "Truly? I hadn't known there were any McIlvaines of your age. Isn't the last of the McIlvaines on the Board of Hogwarts?"

"Madam McIlvaine was her mother. Dierdre died just before my parents," Harry said.

Mr. Weasley nodded and said, "Ah… and you're just finding this out?" When Harry's lips thinned, he added, "I see we've come to the problem."

"Dumbledore made a mess of things," Harry said.

"That's been a theme these last few months," Mr. Weasley observed.

"It's not just that," Harry said; "It's hard to explain…" Mr. Weasley went quiet again and Harry was left to think on an explanation.

"I lost something. Strange, since I didn't know it was there to lose," he said at last.

"Are you angry over it?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Harry looked to the cup he held in his hands. "I suppose I am," he admitted, "but there's something different about it. These last few months, when I've been really angry, it's been… hot, I suppose. This feels different. It's cold somehow. It doesn't go away…" He looked up at Mr. Weasley with a penetrating gaze. "I'll never lose something like this again – not ever. If it's in my reach, I'll take it and I won't let go. I don't care what that stupid prophecy says about not being able to live."

Mr. Weasley nodded sagely. "There are a dozen ways one could read that part, Harry," he said. "I might see it one way, you might see it another. Professor Dumbledore had his own view on the matter, of course. I honestly think he took it at its word. But now…? Well, your godfather certainly did upset the kettle, didn't he?"

"He did that, all right," Harry agreed.

"I'm going to indulge myself for a moment. I'll ask that you listen to me and then you can set your own opinion. Will you do that much?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"I've always listened to you," Harry said honestly.

Mr. Weasley put on a half-smile at that. He told Harry, "It's like this… the best things in life are so easily broken. All you need do is hold onto them too tightly. We've learnt that the hard way, Molly and me. Seize the best when it comes along, Harry, but take care that you make it last."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly.

"I'll see about freshening that cider, then," Mr. Weasley said. He gave Harry a pat on the shoulder and collected the cup from Harry's yielding hands.

* * * * * * * * * *

**YULE-KNOW-WHO!**

_Yule itself has been overtaken by the spectre of terror. The death's-head-and-serpent mark rose above three more homes overnight, resulting in two deaths and six persons taken to hospital. The attacks were widely dispersed, once again causing difficulties for the DMLE._

_Ministry Aurors did reach one site while an attack was under way. One of You-Know-Who's men is believed to have been severely injured prior to escaping the scene. Dark Force Defence League volunteers reached another of the sites as an attack concluded, but did not land any spells on the enemy._

_The Ministry has continued its practice of withholding the identities of those attacked. "We will not at this time release any names, as the knowledge is of no benefit to the wizards and witches of England and may in fact give aid to those who seek to terrorize our citizens," said Ministry spokeswizard Percy Weasley. This newspaper maintains its position that the Ministry is illegally withholding this information, absent a specific ruling by the Wizengamot._

_- The __Daily Prophet__, December 26_

* * * * * * * * * *

_**December 28, 1996**_

"Now, boys, Ginny is going to have a young man calling on her today, and I expect you to be on your best behaviour – yes, I'm glaring at you, Fred and George," Mrs. Weasley announced as breakfast wound to a close.

"A gentlemen caller!" Fred said in his poshest voice.

"I do believe you've got it, old bean!" George returned.

Ron said between bites, "Sounds stuffy to me."

"I think it sounds sweet," Hermione protested. Harry rolled his eyes and Hermione backhanded him for his trouble.

"Sounds like something Perce would arrange," Charlie said off-handedly.

The room went quiet for a long second before Fred piped up in the same affected voice, "I take it that we're prohibited from demonstrating our wares to the gentleman?"

George chimed in, "Oh, please, Mater! It would be tragic were we to deny our trade to such a fine and upstanding –" Ginny, who was already nicely reddened, hurled a banger at George and caught him between the eyes. She matched the throw with Fred before either could react.

"Oh, dear! Violence! That just won't do!" George drawled.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked.

"If either of you bother Tony, I won't hex you into next week. I'll get a Time-Turner and make sure that you're drowned at birth," Ginny ground out.

Ron gave her a gimlet eye. "Tony?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Do you mean Anthony Goldstein? You're seeing Anthony?"

"I was going to visit him in London, but his brother was injured and we decided it was better if he came here. I expect I'll be right about that?" Ginny snapped. The twins looked at each other and began to smirk.

Tonks sat back in her chair and casually buffed her nails against her shirt, then made a show of looking them over. "I've had a lot of practice the last few months," she said; "It's amazing how much a girl can pick up, even after three years of Auror training and three in the field. I'd be happy to demonstrate that, boys… interested?"

"That's big of you, Tonks, really it is," Fred said slowly.

"Don't mind us, Tonksie. We're just, erm, high-spirited blokes," George added.

Bill slipped his arm around Tonks. "You should see Ron and Harry," he said, "or Ginny, for that matter. They're practically up to an Auror's standard. Ginny's the best under-age mixed duellist I've ever seen, and Harry could go on the men's circuit today. Ron could take either of them in a sabre-only duel."

"You've been teaching them how to use a sword?" Mrs. Weasley said sharply.

Tonks didn't take the hint. "Bill's a great teacher," she burbled. "Working with the students has been absolutely brill! I mean, I'd like to think I've held my own in the sessions when it comes to wanded work, but put a sword in Bill's hands and it's poetry in motion. Even the Marquis de Maupassant was impressed and he's seen every major duellist in the past two hundred years. Why, Bill put that apprentice of the Marquis on the mat in less than a minute, and she's been ranked in France for the last three years."

Mr. Weasley's expression was slack. "I didn't know you were taking that up again, Bill," he said.

"I figured that since I'm as skilled as anyone in Britain – and that's an established fact – then I might as well pass along what I know, since I never had the chance to put it to use," Bill said. No one missed the hint of acid in his voice.

"Professor Dumbledore hasn't been supportive of sport duelling in the past," Mr. Weasley said.

Bill told everyone, "Hogwarts is fielding a team for the next junior circuit."

Mrs. Weasley's jaw clenched and then she began, "Ronald and Ginevra, you will –"

" – do whatever you like, in this case," Mr. Weasley cut her off firmly. "If that means either of both of you want to follow the duelling circuit for the upcoming summer, then so be it. Ginny, if you'd prefer to do something along the lines of your music, then we'll support your arrangements. Bill, Charlie… I like to think we'd do some things differently, if we had it to do again. Fred, George… well, you're doing what you always hoped for, so there's nothing to second-guess, is there?"

"Er…" Charlie managed.

Mrs. Weasley squeaked, "Arthur!" just as Bill began, "Dad –"

Mr. Weasley broke into a jaunty smile. "I think that everything has been said. Harry, be a good lad and pass me the _Prophet_, would you?" he said.

Harry dumbly handed off the paper. The twins' mouths opened and closed in silence. Ginny's hands were folded in her lap and she worried her lip. Hermione looked utterly lost. Half a slice of bacon fell from Ron's mouth.

Mr. Weasley glanced at the paper below the fold. "I'll be switched – the Cannons are only two points back from Puddlemere! Marmalade, anyone?" he asked.

"I'm sure there's more bread in the kitchen," Mrs. Weasley said absently. With that, everyone at the table burst into as much conversation and as little eye contact as they could manage.

* * * * * * * * * *

DECEMBER 28:

ANTHONY GOLDSTEIN's VISIT TO THE BLACK TOWER

Work in details on Anthony:

Considered Muggle-born by Wiz World despite 2000 yr history of magic in the family

Mother not pleased by idea of him dating a shikseh; told her that he's visiting Harry and Ron

At least one reference to Anthony being in the swordsmanship group

A remark or reaction re: wizarding prejudice?

Too early to bring up death of Anthony's father?

Not seen as a proper or full member of his own community either because of 'foreign magic' – unable to perform some of the community's magical rituals, possibly because of being capable of wanded magic ---- probably too complex for scene

Have Bill reveal that the Marquis has taken on a student; be non-specific about who or for what (let swordsmanship assumption float out there)

Let out that Ginny and Anthony have been seeing each other since October; reference their ability to keep secrets

Have Anthony comment favourably on Ginny's music; maybe a bit of support/swooning from Tonks and Hermione

A bit of crap taken, probably from the twins, but quickly put aside

Drop in a reference to Anthony's knowledge about old/ancient magic

* * * * * * * * * *

DECEMBER 28:

HARRY/HERMIONE INTERACTION AFTER ANTHONY LEAVES

Hermione guesses that Anthony is the one who got into her workroom, hits Harry with the guess

A bit of a fracas – don't ratchet it up too much

Shift to Hermione's frustration about being so far from her parents

Harry has a 'duh' moment, asks why she isn't glued to her mirror

Hermione has a chastened moment, wondering why she didn't think of that

Hermione confirms to Harry she has returned most of the dark material in her workroom

Hermione leaves to contact her parents; after end of conversation, Harry's inner monologue is that he's fairly sure she's not telling him the truth

* * * * * * * * * *

DECEMBER 30:

ATTACK ON THE PUCEY FAMILY - AFTERMATH

Contact from Dumbledore – Floo? Patronus? Niall Pucey and his family were attacked, need place to gather family and figure out what to do next.

Harry agrees to host, on account of interaction with Niall at Board meeting and growing respect for Adrian.

Weasleys are a little skittish (the Slytherin thing) but it must be OK since Dumbledore suggested it

What Harry doesn't count on is the scope of the group that arrives:

Puceys: Niall, Octavia (wife), Adrian, Estrella Claymore (older sister of Adrian), Edwin Claymore (husband of Estrella)

Dumbledore, Moody, Shacklebolt

Percy Weasley and Carl Budgette (a Fudge under-underling, responsible to Percy – recent Hogwarts grad and known to the Weasley twins as "Fuss-budgette")

Rufus Scrimgeour, Gawain Robards

Harry is less than pleased, but handles it maturely

Nature of the attack:

Percy assures that it couldn't have been Death Eaters as they don't attack pure bloods and he didn't see the Mark personally

Robards reports that the Auror response team did see the Mark

The Claymores are pressed into admitting that they did see one of the attackers, but claim that it was too dark and they can't identify the person

Adrian says the voice of one of the attackers was familiar

Dumbledore tacitly offers assistance of Order; Scrimgeour gives same response as in CH 2: can't support vigilantism, if Order doesn't enter the fold like the DFDL then there is no cooperation with DMLE; begins to upbraid Dumbledore about being at the scene at all, until Dumbledore reminds S. that he is the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and thus a legal official.

Niall Pucey begs off, citing that Octavia is exhausted and he took a stunner, says it's time to make arrangements until they can survey the house

Harry immediately offers house room, cites the statement of friendship after the Board meeting; takes Octavia and the Claymores by surprise

* * * * * * * * * *

**ATTACK ON PROMINENT MIDLANDS FAMILY**

**A copycat crime, or retribution for attacks on the Muggle-born?**

_The home of prominent barrister Niall Pucey was burnt to the ground last evening. None of the Pucey extended family, to include son-in-law and law partner Edwin Claymore, were seriously injured. The DMLE was unable to reach the Pucey's Nottinghamshire estate in time to face the attackers. Family members reported that three to five persons in dark cloaks breached the house wards immediately prior to the attack. Although one of the responding Ministry Aurors reported seeing You-Know-Who's mark, Ministry officials who arrived five minutes later did not see evidence of the mark. _

_Given that the Puceys are a long-standing wizarding family, and that the recent spate of attacks have been entirely directed at newer and first-generation families, there is some speculation that this may have been the work of a copycat. An anonymous official suggested that this could have been a misdirected reprisal against You-Know-Who's so-called 'pure blood' supporters, but offered no evidence to that effect. According to Mr. Pucey, the family will relocate to London whilst they consider whether to rebuild._

_- The __Daily Prophet__, December 31_

* * * * * * * * * *

**CELEBRATIONS TO CONTINUE AS SCHEDULED**

_Organisers have announced that English and Scottish wizards will ring in the New Year as they have for centuries. The 387th annual New Year celebration at Diagon Alley is scheduled to begin at half ten this evening, with fireworks provided by Alley merchants. "We didn't stop when the Muggles were throwing explosives around in the '40s, and we didn't stop the last time You-Know-Who was about, and we're certainly not going to stop now," said Diagon Alley celebration chairman Florean Fortescue. _

_Many Scottish wizards participate in Muggle New Year celebrations, particularly those in the vicinity of Edinburgh. The village of Hogsmeade will host wizarding Britain's oldest continuous New Year observance, which began as a simple Yuletide festival in 926 but has been called Hogmanay by Scots for several hundred years. Iain Macandra, chief of Hogsmeade's village council, echoed Mr. Fortescue's sentiments and promised that this year's Hogmanay bonfire would be the largest in many a year. The Hogmanay celebration begins at noontime today and the village bonfire will be lit at half eleven._

_Gringotts officials announced yesterday that they will participate in Diagon Alley's New Year parade for the first time since 1797. Gringotts will also provide a site for St. Mungo's aid station as well as goblin holiday refreshments for those wizards of sufficient bravery. When asked for comment, a Ministry spokeswitch said that she was "agog" and "frankly, hadn't the slightest idea what the sneaky buggers were planning". Dirk Cresswell, who directs the Ministry's Office of Goblin Liaison, provided a more coherent response. "Wizard-goblin relations have thawed over the last handful of years, not as much in an institutional sense but noticeably at the personal level," Cresswell said. "Frankly, some of that may accrue to the goblin nation's own concerns about You-Know-Who's return. The goblin leadership also recognises that a healthy and happy Diagon Alley is good for business."_

_- The Daily Prophet, December 31_

* * * * * * * * * *

_**December 31, 1996**_

Dumbledore settled back into his conjured armchair. "I do wish you would reconsider, Harry," he said; "While it is true that your confinement at Hogwarts has ended, that is no reason to assume needless risk by such a highly visible public appearance."

"Appearances, actually," Harry corrected him.

"You say that as if it somehow improves the situation," chided Dumbledore.

"Honestly, I said it to irritate you," Harry returned.

Dumbledore repeated more firmly, "I ask you to reconsider your plans for the evening."

Hermione entered the Head of House's study without knocking. Harry had disabled the security ward for the duration of Dumbledore's visit, and in any case had forced Phineas Black's portrait to weave her into the ward permissions.

"Good afternoon, Headmaster. Tea?" she asked. Dumbledore amiably declined.

"We'll be at Diagon Alley – mostly around Gringotts – from ten until eleven, and then at Hogsmeade until the New Year. I've never been to a wizarding celebration before," Harry said. Dumbledore winced and Hermione took on a small but satisfied smile.

"I am sorry for that, but the security reasons for why that is the case have changed very little. If anything, they are now intensified," the Headmaster finally countered.

"I can handle myself. If I can't, then a Death Eater skirmish is the least of our worries," Harry shot back.

"Miss Granger, a word on this matter if you please?" appealed Dumbledore.

"We'll be with an armed contingent of goblins in Diagon Alley. At Hogsmeade, we're an apparation away from the castle gates, we'll have Harry's motorbike, and also an emergency portkey to return us here. We can also go through the Shrieking Shack, and I think Harry has a fifth option as well," Hermione said.

"I see you will not be dissuaded," Dumbledore sighed. "Will you at the very least consent to attend a brief meeting of the Order this afternoon? We shall be arranging some discreet security coverage for the two locations as a fail-safe for Ministry precautions."

After an interminable and – to Harry's eyes – ineffectual Order meeting; two hours of revising; and lingering stops at the Gower Street Waterstone's (as Hatchard's was already shut for the evening) and a Euston Square curry shop, Harry and Hermione made their way to the Leaky Cauldron. The security queue for entering the Alley snaked into the pub itself, and it looked as if Tom was taking full advantage of the large crowd. The wizened innkeeper caught Harry's eye for a long moment and then gave a nod in the direction of a particularly surly-looking group. Harry recognised three current and recent Slytherins amongst them; he gave Tom a respectful nod in return and manoeuvred Hermione deeper into the queue.

"It's mostly half-bloods and muggle-born here," Hermione noted after a quarter hour's wait.

Harry let his eyes rove the crowd, and asked, "How do you know that?"

Hermione observed, "Look at the robes people are wearing: they're mostly casual, and you can see that a lot of people are wearing Muggle clothing beneath – Muggle clothing that could actually blend into a crowd outside the Alley," observed Hermione. "Pure-bloods carry themselves in a certain way, as well. Not in a haughty way like Malfoy; that's not what I'm getting at. Honestly, I think many pure bloods are uncomfortable in a crowd. That makes sense, when you think on it. The only time I've ever seen a large crowd of wizards was at the World Cup, and that hardly counts."

"This is a prime target for an attack," Harry muttered.

"I can understand the Headmaster's concerns," admitted Hermione.

The DFDL security wizards were actually weighing wands, which explained the slowness of the queue and which was a great surprise to Harry. "Who's keeping the results, I wonder?" he said pointedly as they passed through.

"Quiet, you," one of the security wizards grunted.

"That certainly gives a sense of confidence," Hermione sniffed as she followed Harry toward Gringotts.

The Gringotts parade float appeared to be under wraps adjacent to the bank entrance. Although it was well past the bank's public hours, the goblins had set up a money-changing booth outside to service the muggle-born. A phalanx of security goblins was very visibly stationed on the marble steps, which would give pause to any remotely sensible attackers. As the Prophet had noted, a table of goblin refreshments was set out for brave revellers.

"I see the betting pools are going strong," Harry chuckled. A huddle of grinning goblins watched the table closely as wizards fought to hold down a variety of delicacies.

"Are you going to show them how it's done?" Hermione asked.

Harry smirked, clawed the air with his hand, and said, "Meow!"

"Prat," snapped Hermione.

Harry watched the table with crossed arms for a long moment and said, "A spot of tea wouldn't hurt."

An older goblin, dressed in the manner of a Gringotts teller, nodded to Harry and said, "What can you stomach, wizard?"

"I'd like a cup of Itsemurha, please," Harry said casually.

The huddle of goblins went still for several seconds, and then erupted in a flurry of betting. The older goblin walked away and returned with a teapot bubbling so actively that its lid was shaking. From it, the goblin filled a thimble-sized cup with a steaming something-or-another that was the colour and thickness of paste.

Harry frowned and said harshly, "Are you insulting me? That's no cup." The huddle gave off a chorus of hisses and the older goblin gave the slightest of shrugs. A teacup of normal size appeared and the goblin filled it to the brim.

"Bloody hell…" one of the wizards waiting to sample an unappetizing appetizer said.

"You're not going to ask me how I take it?" Harry hissed.

"I hadn't planned to ask," the goblin admitted.

"Two drops of Makea and one drop of Aloittaa, please," said Harry. The huddle of goblin onlookers burst into another rush of betting. The goblin before Harry raised one eyebrow, but said nothing; he merely placed the requisite drops into the cup and took three paces back.

While Harry had demonstrated knowledge of goblin cuisine, none of these goblins knew that Harry had previously downed several cups of Suicide Tea with their financial and political leadership. He took the cup in both hands, put his nose to the cup and drew in a lungful of fumes, tipped his head back, and poured the tea into his mouth from a height of several inches. The trick was in the inhaling of the fumes and the exposure to air as the cup was poured into the drinker's mouth, according to Grishtok and the other clan leaders Harry had met. Just as at the goblin hunt feast, the tea tasted rather like a strong curry. His ears and nostrils belched heavy smoke for a few moments, and then the heat and the taste subsided.

Harry sat the cup down next to the teapot, licked his lips, and said casually, "It's a bit weak, isn't it?" The goblins as one beheld him with wide eyes and gaping mouths; one amongst the huddle stumbled and fell. As soon as they recovered themselves, most of the goblins threw slips of paper at the ground in disgust.

Hermione slipped in next to Harry and they watched two half-pissed wizards ask for 'what he had'. One failed to breathe the fumes in advance, and finally plunged his head into a conveniently placed barrel of water to quash the smoke. The other breathed the fumes but put the cup to his lips and drank it down, and it was quickly apparent why the older goblin had taken three paces back after providing service.

One of the goblins in the huddle remained behind. In the shadows, it was only clear that the goblin was both wide and relatively tall, and wore a heavy and brightly patterned winter cloak. Hermione took an unconscious step closer to Harry.

"Greetings, _Mister_ Potter," the goblin rumbled.

"Greetings, Director Fliptrask, and congratulations on your winnings," Harry returned.

"Well spotted," the goblin said after a guttural chuckle; "Will you ask for your share, or shall I just hand it over?"

"I'm only taking a share because your honour requires it. The look on the other goblins' faces was enough... and it was rather funny to bait those wizards into trying it," said Harry.

Hermione's brow rose. "This was a set-up?" she snapped.

"Naturally," Fliptrask snorted.

"This is why you came here?" Hermione asked sharply.

Harry said, "We came here because neither of us has ever been to a wizarding festival, in case you forgot. It's just convenient that Fliptrask was able to get one up on these fellows."

Before Hermione could fire back, Fliptrask said, "Mr. Potter seems to understand what gaming means to us. He also understands the meaning of position. For me to disadvantage my betters – as happened at the Feast – was unwise. For me to take advantage of Glassjaw and the tellers is most wise. For Mr. Potter to willingly involve himself... this will be a well-told tale until the equinox if not longer. It also reminds my brothers that not all wizards are like Bagman-the-thief."

Hermione looked past the food table toward the goblins preparing for the parade, and asked, "May I go over there for a few moments? I see some of the goblins attached to the Volvar."

Fliptrask nodded and barked a command toward the food table. One of the unoccupied goblins scuttled over, muttered an honorific, and took Hermione by the elbow.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Harry dropped all pretence; he asked, "Did your people get rid of Bagman, then?"

Fliptrask broke into a wicked smile and said, "You are the first to ask. Ragnok will be pleased. He placed one galleon on the possibility, at knut-to-galleon odds."

"That doesn't answer my question," said Harry.

"Gringotts is pleased that Bagman-the-thief paid for his crimes. Gringotts did not administer justice. Gringotts did not pay to have justice administered. Gringotts did not ask for justice to be administered. No goblins participated in the administration of justice. No goblins planned the administration of justice," Fliptrask responded.

Harry paused to think before he said, "Gringotts knows who did it, and a goblin gave that person information about Bagman."

"You are not yet a true businessman, nor a member of the legal profession," Fliptrask observed, "but you do have some understanding of wordplay. Nurturing this will help you in your dealings amongst the wizards."

"And also my dealings with goblins?" Harry returned.

"Budding skills, indeed," said Fliptrask.

"Is this person who offed Bagman... or people, I suppose... is he a danger to me?" Harry asked.

"Not an inherent danger, no," Fliptrask said without hesitation.

"Will you help this person again?" asked Harry.

"I have never helped the individual or individuals in question," said Fliptrask.

"Will this person receive more help from goblins?" Harry tried again.

Fliptrask said, "I cannot say. It may be so, or it may not be so."

"Should I be concerned about this person?" Harry asked.

"You should pay close attention to any wizard or faction of wizards whose actions change or challenge the balance of power in Britain," said Fliptrask.

"Bloody hell, this is like talking to Dumbledore," Harry grumbled.

Fliptrask snorted, "There is no need to be insulting, Mr. Potter."

Harry mentally picked his way through another question, and eventually asked, "Does this person threaten my interests, specifically the fight against Voldemort?"

Fliptrask pursed his lips for several seconds before he said, "In my expert opinion, the wizard or faction of wizards in question does not intend to threaten those interests, and may in fact intend to aid them. However, in my personal opinion, I see the possibility that the continued actions of the wizard or faction of wizards in question could endanger the interests you have stated."

"Are you unable to answer me directly because you're oath-bound?" Harry asked.

"No," Fliptrask said.

"Is it because of a matter of honour?" Harry continued.

After a hesitation, Fliptrask said, "Yes."

Harry nodded and said, "I'll stop asking questions, then."

Fliptrask broke into a toothy and slightly frightening smile, and then said, "I enjoy doing business with you, Mr. Potter. You are worthy of my valuable time. I tell you this: where I am not thwarted by oath or honour, I will protect and advance the interests you have stated. I tell you this also: there are many goblins who would not say the same. There are some goblins who would actively work for the opposite end."

"Lovely... I wish it wasn't so hard to know who to trust," sighed Harry.

Fliptrask said, "I will not ask for your trust, Mr. Potter, though it is an item of value. Continue to develop your skills at wordplay. Put them to use. Engage in wordplay with me. See it in the words of others. We have a lucrative relationship, you and I, and it is to my benefit and to the ultimate benefit of Gringotts and the clan that I maintain and strengthen that relationship. Where I am able, I will offer advice and counsel. It will be for you to decide whether this is an item of value. You can expect the same, albeit to a lesser extent, from Gringotts Chief Ragnok and from Clan Chief Grishtok."

After a long pause, Harry said, "I shouldn't expect it from others."

"Your words; not mine," said Fliptrask.

Harry took a glance toward the parade preparations. He saw Hermione in close discussion with three goblins clad in tall headgear and ornate cloaks. "Who are they?" he asked Fliptrask.

Fliptrask squinted hard and then answered, "They are dressed in the finery of the Volvar's personal attendants. There is a rumour that the Volvar herself will be here. If that's true, I would expect her to be in the viewing gallery with Ragnok and Grishtok." He gestured to a long balcony high above the main doors to Gringotts.

Harry followed Fliptrask's gesture and then returned to Hermione and the three goblins. He thought he could see another figure to one side, clad in a dark cloak, but it was hard for him to see clearly amidst the bustle of several dozen goblins making last-minute preparations. He did see Hermione open her bag and exchange several things with one of the finely cloaked attendants.

"Who can you really trust?" Harry muttered.

"It is difficult with mates," Fliptrask said.

Harry snapped back to attention. "I'm sorry...?"

"It is difficult with mates," Fliptrask repeated. "In most ways, they are the most trustworthy of all – the only whom we can truly trust, in fact. Because they know us so well, they can also challenge our trust more harshly than the worst enemy. Keep in mind that when they deceive, it is usually to protect."

"Are you married?" Harry asked.

Fliptrask said, "I am contract-bound. This is deeper than the normal mating rituals of wizards. For wizards... it is something like a contracted formal betrothal. It is more than this, but something like it. You should know of this. Your family contracted you with the McIlvaine wizards from Scotland."

Harry was gobsmacked. "_You knew about that?_ Why didn't it come up when I took over the estates?"

Fliptrask's mouth tightened into a thin line for a long second before he said, "Dumbledore has much for which he should answer. I should not assume that you have been instructed or even informed with respect to your heritage or any expectations thereto."

"For the most part, I don't know a damn thing," Harry huffed.

"That is something you must change," Fliptrask returned.

"I'm working on it," said Harry.

Hermione returned and Harry decided to say nothing about her exchange with the Volvar's attendants. They made a brief visit to the Weasley twins' shop, greeted a few Hogwarts students and their families, but decided to leave for Hogsmeade before the actual Diagon Alley celebration began. Hermione said she was more interested in the historical significance and lore surrounding the Hogsmeade event. For his part, Harry was uncomfortable in the crowd – there were too many people in motion and too many places for people to hide. Hermione never seemed to notice the half-dozen security goblins who followed them, but Harry was glad for the extra eyes and ready swords.

After an especially lengthy bit of spinning, their goblin portkey left Harry and Hermione reeling on the path between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, about a hundred yards short of the village. Neither of them had expected a seat at the Three Broomsticks, but Madam Rosmerta somehow magicked a small table in the far corner. It was a brisk night and the hearth was roaring. They talked about nothing of consequence for what seemed like quite a long while, until the doors opened and a number of patrons rose from their chairs.

"What's this about?" Harry wondered aloud.

A wizard from a neighbouring table hissed, "To your feet, boy – 'tis the Compact Families!"

Hermione took on a perplexed expression, and asked, "And the Compact Families are...?"; she drew glares from the few who heard her.

Half a dozen elderly wizards and witches made a stately entrance and gave formal waves to those standing. They were closely followed by two somewhat younger wizards and a witch familiar to Harry.

Madam Rosmerta stood on a chair, smoothed her skirt, and then called out, "In pride and gratitude, we welcome our brothers and sister of the Compact. Soon they will lead the saining of the households, as they have done each Yule since the days of the Norse. But for now... Lilibet, pass the ale, dear... now wait for it..."

Harry and Hermione found themselves each with a flagon of ale in hand amidst a buzz of excitement neither of them understood. Madam Rosmerta was replaced on the chair by the witch who Harry recognised: Madam McIlvaine. She raised a flagon of her own, and sang in a clear voice:

_Here we come a-wassailing among the leaves once green,_

_Here we come a-wandering so fairly to be seen._

_Now is winter-time, strangers travel far and near_

_And we wish you and send you a happy New Year._

_We hope that all your plantings will prosper fine and grow,_

_So that you'll have plenty and a bit more to bestow._

_We hope your wethers they grow fat and likewise all your ewes,_

_And where they had one lamb we hope they will have two. _

She took a sip of ale and raised her flagon again, and as one the rest of the patrons did the same. Harry took a hesitant sip; the ale stung at the back of his throat but he managed to hold back a cough. Hermione let out a tiny choking sound and grimaced. Madam McIlvaine stepped down to hearty applause.

Madam Rosmerta took her place and shouted, "All right, you lot, sing with me!

_Wassail, wassail, all over the town,_

_Our bread it is white and our ale it is brown;_

_Our bowl it is made of the green maple tree;_

_In the Wassail bowl we'll drink unto thee._

_Come, butler, come fill us a bowl of the best;_

_Then I pray that your soul in heaven may rest; _

_But if you do bring us a bowl of the small,_

_May the Devil take butler, bowl and all!_

_Then here's to the maid in the lily white smock,_

_Who tripp'd to the door and slipp'd back the lock;_

_Who tripp'd to the door and pull'd back the pin,_

_For to let these jolly Wassailers walk in!_

Cheers!"

She took a long pull on her flagon and a chant grew with each second she continued; she didn't stop until it was emptied to loud cheers and whistles. With that, people began clinking together their flagons. Madam Rosmerta stepped down and led the visitors around the bar and out of view.

"That was interesting," Harry deadpanned.

"I've never seen anything like it," admitted Hermione.

Lilibet – who was one of Rosmerta's bar-maids – sauntered up to their table and told Harry, "Madam Rosmerta is asking for you; she's upstairs." Harry took Hermione by the hand and followed Lilibet up the stairs, past Detheridge's rooms and to the open door of the garret flat.

Rosmerta met them there. "Happy New Year, Harry – oh, and I see you brought Miss Granger. Nice that you can join in the festivities. Harry, this is – "

Harry moved past Rosmerta and said, "We've already met... hello, Madam McIlvaine." He extended his hand.

Madam McIlvaine took it firmly. "I am pleased to see you under better circumstances, Mr. Potter," she said; "Who is your companion?"

Harry motioned for Hermione to enter, and said, "Madam McIlvaine, this is Hermione Granger. She's the top student in our year – probably in the school – as well as my... erm... girlfriend. Hermione, this is Madam Melisende McIlvaine from the Hogwarts Board of Governors." Hermione quickly shook Madam McIlvaine's hand, eyes narrowed.

Madam McIlvaine laughed softly and then added, "That would be the same Melisende McIlvaine who voted against both Mr. Potter's suspension and eventual dismissal. As for you, Miss Granger, I am well aware of your academic standing. You have featured in a fair few reports from both the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress."

Hermione's expression relaxed, but Harry could see that she was still coiled for a fight. "Thank you, Madam. Perhaps you might explain why you've summoned Harry?" she said flatly.

Madam McIlvaine was quiet for long than was comfortable. Her gaze was focused on Hermione; she seemed to be taking Hermione's measure, Harry thought. Her eyes turned to Harry and she broke the silence. "I was informed by the goblins that you have received a certain contract. I had thought to explain the matter, and to answer your questions if needed," she told him; "I could arrange a meeting between the two of us at a later time, if you prefer," Madam McIlvaine offered.

Harry shook his head, and said, "No, no... this is fine. I'd asked for it, after all... just caught off guard by the timing of it. Hermione stays; she'd know the story of it eventually."

"If you're certain...? I should think it awkward," said Madam McIlvaine.

"It wouldn't be my first awkward moment," Harry returned, which brought a smile to both women. He gestured to the dining table, as the disassembled sofa had not yet been replaced and there was only one armchair remaining in the sitting area.

Madam McIlvaine took a seat. She waved her hand casually and the door to the stairs closed. Then she took her wand and drew glowing rune sigils in the air; Harry was reminded of Tom Riddle's glowing anagram. The first set of runes shot across the room and affixed themselves to the door and its frame. The remainder moved to the windows and did the same. Hermione's lips pressed together and Harry almost expected her to raise her hand.

"Runic protections are far more secure than room warding spells, provided one has time to work the runes," Madam McIlvaine said. "Now then, are either of you familiar with the Compact Families? No? I suppose this should not come as a surprise; you, Harry, were raised by Lily's Muggle relatives, and you, Miss Granger, are the first of your family to be graced by magic. This will require explanation, then...

"Twelve hundred years ago, there were two distinct groups of wizards. The first group could trace its roots from the Celts and their forebears. They practised what are now called 'old magics', although they were generally able to use wands. Their magic incorporated many rituals and was practised both individually and as a community. The second group were almost entirely wand users whose magical roots were from the Roman tradition. However, over the centuries since the Romans had retreated from our land, their practices had been passed on through an oral tradition. Their magic was spell-bound and it was more a tool than a practice. The two groups were mostly disconnected from one another, because the second group tended to draw undesirable attention from those not graced by magic."

"This old magic... is it practised in Iceland?" Harry asked.

Madam McIlvaine raised a delicate eyebrow. "You know Icelanders?"

"I'm receiving tuition from an Icelandic war witch," said Harry.

Madam McIlvaine said, "Is that so? You may be learning some of our magics. It is ironic that a foreign witch may teach you, yet I am forbidden to teach the same magics on British soil.

"The first wizards to invade the Isle were Norsemen, and Icelandic practices come from the same source. Those Norse mages were not unlike the first group, but they did use certain spells that made travel more palatable: food preservation, ship repair, and such. More importantly, the Norse brought a strong emphasis on runic magic. Over the next hundred years, the first group – the Old Magic group, if you like – adopted many of those Norse practices.

"In 966, a group of Norse mages recently arrived on our island attacked a settlement of Roman mages – the second group to which I referred. In retaliation, the Romans slaughtered three nearby families. Two of those families were Norsemen, unrelated to the attackers. One family was from the Old Magic group. The conflict quickly spread.

"Five years later, an army of the Roman mages attacked the largest of the Old Magic communities. By way of defence, the village elders summoned a demon – a giant boar. In the confusion, the elders failed to affix all of the seals for the summoning and the demon broke free. The attack ceased, as all present were now in terrible danger. Four came forward to confront the demon.

"The second-in-command of the attacking army took on the demon directly in a blaze of spells and swordplay. A Norman mercenary who accompanied the army chased the demon away from the village with a phalanx of transfigured wolves and a dozen conjured serpents. The daughter of one of the village elders together with a Norse rune mistress set grand wards to contain the demon atop a hill in the centre of the great forest that bordered the village. The eruption of the wards and the demon's banishment consumed everything for half a mile save the four mages; a goodly part of the forest was gone and the remainder took on part of the demon's shade.

"The second-in-command of the attacking army proceeded to defeat his own commander in single combat, and went on to declare the end of hostilities. The now-barren hill was named Hogwards Hill to commemorate the great event. The Norman mercenary took charge of the Roman mages with the new commander's consent and proceeded to rebuild the village. Norse, Roman and Old Magic elders were summoned and a peace was negotiated. The three groups agreed to a common law and in 972 the commander of the Roman mages sealed the agreement by entering into marriage with the daughter of the village elder. He vowed to turn swords to ploughshares and took up residence in the village, which was renamed Hogsmeade. The Norman mercenary and the Norse rune mistress also remained, and each began to take magical students. Twenty years later, they began construction of a magical castle on Hogwards Hill, and seven years after that they began to board students."

Hermione let out a slow breath before she said, "That's not at all how the Founding is described in _Hogwarts: A History_."

Madam McIlvaine said, "I'm not surprised at that. History is written by the victors, after all. Now let me tell you the rest of the story:

"The four mages soon began to disagree on which qualities were desired in a student. The Roman commander – Gryffindor – naturally favoured bravery of the sort seen on the battlefield. The rune mistress – Ravenclaw – was a scholar by inclination, and her work in the classroom only strengthened that. The mercenary – Slytherin – was also a scholar but of a different sort. He was fascinated by rituals, something that was unfamiliar to him before he encountered the Old Magic community. He was also quite frightened of non-magical people. On the other hand, the Old Magic communities had long known the proper wardings and rituals to keep the non-magical at bay. In fact, it was the village's daughter – Hufflepuff – who placed the base wardings on the castle. As one who was raised in a community of magic with rituals that required the cooperation of all, Hufflepuff was appalled by the idea of any sort of exclusion. Thus she would accept any that the others would decline.

"Over time, Hufflepuff became concerned by Slytherin's distortions of ritual magic. With the support of the Old Magic community, she demanded that Slytherin cease teaching ritual magics. He in turn demanded that any students borne of non-magical parents be removed from their homes entirely, so that the school would remain insulated from all persons non-magical. Gryffindor agreed with Slytherin, and so Hufflepuff reluctantly agreed in order to stop Slytherin's teachings. Ravenclaw's view on this has been lost to the ages.

"Some say that Slytherin was banished from the school. Others say he left of his own accord. Some say that he became more and more radical about the so-called Muggle-born, until the other three could no longer tolerate him. Our histories say that Slytherin left because he wanted to continue his pursuit of ritual magics and Hufflepuff thwarted him at every turn. Whatever the case, he had left the school by 1028. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, however, demanded that Slytherin's house – his community of learners – be allowed to remain under the leadership of one of Slytherin's apprentices, a young mage named Peverell. The Peverell family and others continued Slytherin's explorations into ritual magic, at first openly and later in secret.

"A few decades later, the second invaders came: the Normans. Their mages came along with William the Conqueror's armies. They were already aligned with Roman magic and many of them quickly gravitated to Slytherin and Gryffindor's way of thinking. Both were still alive at that time: Gryffindor as headmaster of what was then still called Hogwards School, and Slytherin as the head of an exclusive magical order that delved deeply into the arcane. Like their non-magical counterparts, the Norman mages eventually prevailed. They came to dominate English magical society and magical thought.

"Eventually... two hundred and seventy years after the last of the school founders – Hufflepuff – had passed on... the Normans managed to forge a unified magical government with limited fealty to the English and Scottish monarchs. In so doing, they codified part of the agreement between Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Ritual magic would be forever excluded from the school curriculum. The Roman style of magic would be advocated and managed by the new government. All would be prohibited from starting another magical school without approval of the government. The Old Magic families would be prohibited from taking on apprentices who were not of the Old Magic families by either blood or marriage. At the same time, the Old Magic families would be protected by the government and would receive large grants of land and treasure. Old Magic community rituals would be enshrined into public festivals and major acts of the government.

"The Old Magic community was implicitly threatened by force – explicitly in some cases – and they capitulated. The Compact went into force in 1407, and from then forward the Old Magic families were referred to as the Compact Families. In one stroke, the Normans managed to effectively ban the old magics from English society. How could we send our children to a school that couldn't teach our style of magic? How could we participate in a government that for the most part didn't recognise our magic as legitimate? Some Old Magic families crossed over in those days. Few Roman families wanted to lose their children to Old Magic, and it became harder and harder to bring new blood into our communities.

"One generation after the Compact was signed, there were two hundred and thirty-eight Compact Families. Today there are nine. Before You-Know-Who's first rise, all nine families were robust. In recent times, we had some successes in bringing Muggle-born mages into our families. Three of the families became polygamous in order to raise their birthrate.

"Twenty years ago, he began killing our heirs –"

Hermione gasped, "Voldemort killed your children?"

"In our family's case, there was a single child – my daughter," Madam McIlvaine said. "Regrettably, the McIlvaines intermarried too often. Despite the fact that my husband Connor was a second-generation mage from Canada, I was only able to bring Dierdre to term. I miscarried four times previously."

Hermione rose to her feet and took Madam McIlvaine's hand. "I'm so sorry," she said.

Madam McIlvaine squeezed her hand and said, "Thank you; that is most kind. I fear your sympathies toward me are about to change, however."

Hermione's brow furrowed and she said, "Unless you're about to tell us that you've become a blood purist, I doubt that very much." Madam McIlvaine released Hermione's hand but Hermione held firm.

"How did you meet my parents?" Harry asked.

"I met them at a Quidditch match, actually. Connor was a rabid fan and it was a guilty pleasure for me; my parents disapproved of sport. James was a reserve Chaser for Puddlemere at the time, freshly out of school. He went into the match in the sixth hour and proceeded to score sixteen consecutive goals. Portree had to pull their Keeper and in the end their Seeker took the snitch and the loss just to end the match. Rather than go to his mates, your father instead flew directly to your mother. I remember saying to Connor, 'Now that's someone worth meeting'," Madam McIlvaine answered.

"Why did you decide on the betrothal agreement?" asked Harry.

Hermione was absolutely pole-axed; she spluttered, "Be... betrothal?"

"I did say your sympathies would change," said Madam McIlvaine.

"I didn't know about this until the end of last term," Harry told Hermione, "and obviously it's broken now."

"But... but some betrothals are between families and they follow on until someone is eligible –" Hermione started.

Madam McIlvaine frowned; "A loathsome practice," she said, "and one I'd not be a party to," she said.

Hermione visibly slumped in her seat and said, "Thank goodness for that... Harry? Is this why you've been so different?"

"I've been different?" Harry asked.

Hermione said with a slight blush, "I think you know what I mean. You've been... 'clinging' is the wrong word, since I haven't been bothered by it in the least... er... let's say that you've been adamant about wanting me close."

"Oh, my..." Madam McIlvaine said, and she closed her eyes intently.

"It's not like that," Harry said quickly.

Madam McIlvaine's eyes snapped open, and she said, "I'm not a prude. The both of you feel quite close to one another, and you're of age or nearly so. I warn that you should be betrothed or handfasted in the proper forms before your relationship is consummated. There is a power within you bursting to be released, Mr. Potter. You're not lacking in power yourself, Miss Granger. Some of the power I feel in this room... I've never before encountered its like outside of our community. Proper rites of betrothal and bonding can release or enhance abilities, and you wouldn't want to miss that opportunity; it only comes once, after all."

"Are you referring to soul bonds?" Hermione asked.

Madam McIlvaine broke into an almost musical laugh. "_Soul bonds?_ Oh, my! I'm afraid that there is no such thing. Soul bonds are something for those penny dreadfuls at Flourish and Blotts," she managed to say.

Hermione caught Harry's questioning look, and grumbled, "Mrs. Weasley reads them."

Madam McIlvaine laughed again and patted Hermione's hand. She said, "You don't need to be ashamed. They're good fun, really. 'Oh, Thurston! Now that we are truly soul bonded, we can share each other's thoughts and feelings!' Can you imagine hearing all of your lover's thoughts? I should think it would be more pain than pleasure. If my Connor was any example – and I believe he was a better man than most – then it's a sure thing that all young men are perverted."

"Oi!" Harry protested.

Hermione said, "Carlotta and Thurston _are_ ridiculous, aren't they?"

"Er... you read those books?" Harry ventured.

Hermione snapped, "Oh, honestly, Harry! A girl can read something besides schoolbooks, can't she?" Harry looked suitably cowed, and she smirked at him.

Returning to the matter at hand, Madam McIlvaine said, "You know about the betrothal, but are you aware of the offer I took to your Wizengamot?"

Harry nodded. "My solicitor – he's a wizard called Ted Tonks – wrote to me about it. Dumbledore wouldn't let you take me."

"You tried to take Harry in?" Hermione confirmed.

"I've met Mr. Tonks; if he is as he seems, then you've made a good choice," Madam McIlvaine said before she answered Hermione, "I offered to carry through with House McIlvaine's portion of the betrothal agreement: to give Harry house room and protection, among other things. The Headmaster was unwilling to support me in this, and I didn't expect any true backing from the other governing wizards. Many of their ancestors were responsible for the Compact. To them, my community is powerful and unpredictable and outside of their understanding – three things that those in power dislike in others. As a sop, the Headmaster awarded me a seat on the Hogwarts Board. The Compact offered that to our community, but no one had ever taken it up. I had hoped to have some influence on your schooling. I didn't count on sharing the floor with some of You-Know-Who's followers."

"So... do you really think you could have protected me?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I believe so. We have an affinity for warding that the Roman ways can not imitate, and You-Know-Who could not have countered them without bringing one of our own to his side. Our wards were sound. I wouldn't have lost my daughter and husband if not for arrogance. We should have remained on the ancestral grounds until You-Know-Who was well and truly gone," she answered.

"His name is Voldemort, you know," Harry said firmly.

"Names are not trifling things, Mr. Potter; they are used with intention in rituals and oaths. Names should be used wisely and not unnecessarily," Madam McIlvaine returned. Hermione looked thoughtful at that; for his part, Harry stayed silent.

"Madam McIlvaine, may I ask why you decided to make an agreement outside of the Old Magic families? Wouldn't that have kept Harry from going to Hogwarts? I assume that's why this Compact was so successful in keeping a divide: the larger community didn't want to give up their children," Hermione said.

"Well spotted," Madam McIlvaine said approvingly, "but there is one significant difference between House McIlvaine and the other remaining Old Magic families. The rest of the families adopted the Nordic family structures – they are patrilineal. We were and have remained matrilineal. Although my daughter would have joined Harry in marriage, she would have remained Heir to my House. She would have been wife to the Heir of House Potter and he would have been consort to the Heir of House McIlvaine. This allowed us a novel loophole in the Compact, but one which we had not before exercised with English wizards – after all, what English House would be willing to offer their own Heir to sire the Heir of another house? My grandmother said that her ancestors believed a geas was invoked on the other families to make them give up matrilineage. Our House Heir in those days was already an adult yet was not present at the Compact signing; she was nine months pregnant at the time.

"As for why we decided to strike an agreement with the Potters...? Firstly, they weren't put off by our requirements. Mr. Potter's father wasn't bothered by the idea of binding his first granddaughter to House McIlvaine, and I do think that Mr. Potter's mother would have hexed him had he objected. Secondly, they weren't interested in our wealth or possessions, nor were they trying to change us. Thirdly, we liked them and they liked us. The idea that we would get on well with the parents of our daughter's consort was very appealing. Fourthly, they didn't seek to tightly bind the agreement. Mr. Potter, both you and my daughter were given the freedom to break the agreement before coming of age. The four of us hoped that at the least you would each find a lifelong friend from the bargain, but all of us found repugnant the idea of forcing a marriage. But most importantly, the agreement allowed Mr. Potter's father to access the McIlvaine grimoire."

She turned to Harry and took his hands; he flinched for an instant, but she held tight and said to him, "Mr. Potter, we knew that there was a prophecy that involved both yourself and... that horrible creature. We didn't know the whole of it, but it was obvious that you were key to getting rid of him and that you needed extraordinary protections. Your mother was a serious scholar of magic, and she wasn't put off by the differences between Old Magic and the Roman ways. She had an exceptional mind. The world lost much by her death – and your father's as well; don't misunderstand me. She had deduced that Old Magic would offer the best alternatives for her purposes. Your father entered the McIlvaine grimoire with your mother's instructions, and returned with a ritual I had never before seen and that I didn't entirely understand. I can only say that she was very excited, and I suspect that the ritual had something to do with your survival."

"That's why Croaker couldn't balance the bridging equation... he didn't recognise that there was a ritual component..." Hermione said in a near-whisper.

"Are you talking about your project for Dumbledore?" Harry asked, even as Madam McIlvaine asked, "Croaker... are you referring to Algernon Croaker?"

"Yes, and yes," Hermione said.

Madam McIlvaine gritted her teeth. "Algernon Croaker attempted to have the Compact repealed, in exchange for giving his... his merry band of _demon spawn _access to the Old Magics. He actually succeeded in gaining some support from your Wizengamot. My grandmother threatened to banish him to Tartarus, or so my mother claimed. He understood that to mean 'no' and the issue was never broached again. I am surprised that he is still alive."

"He must be about one hundred and seventy," Harry said.

"His 'demon spawn'...?" Hermione asked.

"Your so-called Department of Mysteries: the ones who would own magic – as if it can be owned," Madam McIlvaine spat.

"I don't know what the Department of Mysteries does, actually, not even after seeing it. I do know that Croaker might very well be a demon – a nasty one, at that. He hates Hermione, that's for certain," Harry said.

"As I said before, those sort dislike things outside of their understanding," Madam McIlvaine said.

Harry straightened in his chair, and said, "Thank you for everything you did. Just because things didn't work out doesn't mean you didn't try to help me. If I'm understanding this rightly, you actually saved my life. If the House of Potter can ever do anything for you, it'll be done."

Madam McIlvaine's eyes filled with unshed tears. "Thank you, Harry," she said. "That's related to why I wished to see you. I would like to revive the agreement."

"Er... revive the agreement?" Harry asked.

Hermione sat bolt upright and demanded, "I thought you said this wasn't entailed! You aren't seriously considering marrying Harry, are you?"

Madam McIlvaine's eyes widened and she stared at the two of them for several seconds before she said, "Marry?" She chuckled and then broke into full-on laughter. "Be married to Mr. Potter? Oh – oh, dear! The looks on your faces!" she gasped.

Harry cleared his throat and asked uneasily, "What did you have in mind, then?"

Madam McIlvaine took a moment to compose herself before she said, "I have no desire to marry again – and certainly not to you, Mr. Potter. Without an heir, House McIlvaine and all that pertains will revert to one of the remaining Old Magic families. I propose that House Potter agree to provide House McIlvaine with an heir at some future date. Should anything happen to me, then you would serve as regent until you produce a daughter. In return, House McIlvaine will provide house room if needed, protection if possible, and access for the Head of House Potter to the McIlvaine grimoire. Perhaps something from within the grimoire can help you destroy that monster once and for all time?"

Harry sat dumbfounded by the idea. It was so far outside his experience that he struggled to think of all the consequences. He would be promising that a future daughter born from a future wife would take over a House about which he knew little or nothing. He didn't understand Old Magic – wasn't even certain what it entailed – but he did know that Voldemort was afraid of it. If Madam McIlvaine wasn't on the good side of things, he figured that his parents would never have considered a betrothal or friendship.

"Do it," Hermione said abruptly.

Jarred from his thoughts, Harry said, "Pardon?"

"Do it," she repeated. "There could be something in there as powerful as the ritual your mother used. You need to do this."

"It's not a small thing," said Harry.

"What, providing an heir?" Hermione asked.

"Well... yeah," Harry admitted.

"Harry, anyone who really loves you will understand. It's not as if someone would show up and take away your daughter, after all," Hermione said.

Harry startled at the mention of _his_ daughter aloud, but Hermione's point did leave him more comfortable with Madam McIlvaine's request. "Can I think on this? Not long, but a day or two?" he asked.

"I agree with you that this is no small thing. It is right to give this careful consideration. Your owl and no other will be able to find me, should you send a reply. Now then... it is nearly time for the saining," Madam McIlvaine said. When she stood, she first clasped Hermione's hands for a moment, and then drew Harry into a gentle hug.

"Someone said that before... what is a saining?" Hermione asked.

"The saining is a house-blessing for the new year," Madam McIlvaine explained; "Each head of house lights a branch from the village bonfire. The hearth of each house is lit by its branch, and then we use the branches to inscribe runes for growth, strength, health and protection on the lintel of each house. At the end, the branches are returned and put into the bonfire."

"That sounds lovely," said Hermione.

Harry said, "I'd like to do that for the Black Tower sometime... maybe next year?"

"It can be performed on the new year, or on the winter solstice itself – that's when we bless our own homes," Madam McIlvaine said; "I'm not allowed to teach you the rite, but nothing prevents you from learning by observation." She moved aside and added, "I don't wish to be impolite, but I do need to join my brethren."

Madam McIlvaine removed the runic protections and Harry held open the garret door for her. He and Hermione followed her down the stairs, but at a slower pace. By the time they left The Three Broomsticks, she had already disappeared into the crowd that surrounded the great bonfire.

* * * * * * * * * *

A SAINING GONE HORRIBLY WRONG

Harry and Hermione are surprised to find Ron amongst the crowd. He is with Lavender Brown, whose grandparents' home is in Hogsmeade. Hermione and Lavender are civil to each other, if not exactly warm.

Adrian Pucey is also in the crowd, along with Cho Chang. It seems that the Puceys have been regular revellers in Hogsmeade for years, but Niall and his wife stayed in London this year; the attack on their home took its toll on their nerves. Ginny is also present, in the company of Anthony Goldstein:

"_Happy New Year, Harry," Ginny exclaimed. Her cheeks were pinked from the cold, and she was arm-in-arm with Anthony Goldstein._

"_Happy New Year, Ginny," Harry returned; "Good to see you again, Anthony... or is it Tony?"_

_Anthony's lips pursed for a moment before he said, "Whichever you like, I suppose. I admit that it sounds better coming from Ginny than from you."_

_Harry smiled and said, "Anthony it is, then."_

_Anthony turned to Hermione and said, "Happy New Year, Hermione. You're looking rested, much better than during the term."_

"_You shan't need to talk with Dumbledore," Hermione said with a sharp edge._

_Anthony gave a slight nod before he asked evenly, "Did Harry tell you, or did you suss it out on your own?"_

_Hermione was only slightly less sharp than before. "It was on my own, with the help of some unintended hints. There was a rather short list of potential suspects, you know?" she said._

_Ginny cut in, "Have you ever seen anything like this? All the people and the decorations, and the fire...!"_

"_It's great," Hermione said flatly._

_Anthony said, "We used to come for this every year... I thought it would be a good way to remember, you know? There's always been a bit of kinship with us and the Compact families, being third-class citizens and such."_

The saining begins with a mass gathering around the bonfire at the centre of the village. The members of the Compact families place runes and perform an unfamiliar incantation that makes the bonfire grow to ten times its previous size without the corresponding heat. Harry notices that one of the members seems to be chanting differently than the others; the same man lingers over his set of runes. Harry recalls Snape's countercursing at his first-year Quidditch match, and wonders what the man is up to. He manages to catch Madam McIlvaine long enough to find out the man's name – Laurence Lochsley; she says that Lochsley is an experimenter and may have been twiddling with some family magics. Harry remains suspicious.

The heads of each household in Hogsmeade collect their lit branches and begin a procession back to their homes. Harry notices that there are more cloaked wizards than before, and that they are lingering at the edges of the crowd. He takes Hermione by the hand and starts looking for Aurors. She looks for Ron as they move along.

The bonfire starts to grow again as the residents of Hogsmeade move back into their homes. Stragglers in the crowd turn and begin moving toward the bonfire. Harry feels a strong impulse to walk toward the fire but stops himself and wraps his arm around Hermione before she can change direction. He starts a measured move toward the bonfire, careful to guard his thoughts.

He finds Scrimgeour near the bonfire, frantically signalling for the rest of the Aurors on scene. Apparently, Fudge ordered the bulk of the force to cover Diagon Alley rather than Hogsmeade, and Scrimgeour only has five other Aurors at his command. He asks Harry point-blank if he has seen anyone casting the Imperius curse. Harry relates the impulse he felt a few moments earlier.

Hermione kneels and opens her pack; several heavy books tumble forth. When Harry gives her a dark look – as it's now quite clear that she's getting her dark books from the goblins, and hasn't stopped – she snaps at him and begins flipping pages rapidly. She moves from the books to her own books filled with notes and diagrams. At some point, she's joined by Anthony Goldstein.

People continue to mill toward the bonfire. Scrimgeour and Harry are horrified to see two of them walk straight into the fire as though it was nothing; the two people are consumed almost instantly. Scrimgeour attempts to stun two more approaching, but his spells curve away from their targets and into the flames. Harry tries to force his "rogue" magic (the sort he's been experiencing in relation to Hermione) and manages to fling one person away from the fire, but finds himself dragged toward it several feet before he can stop his slide.

Madam McIlvaine races toward them, stops a few feet short of the fire, and uses her wand to begin burning runes into the ground. She, Hermione and Anthony have a rapid conversation that Harry can't follow – and in any case, he and Scrimgeour are too busy physically knocking people to the ground for him to pay a lot of attention. Adrian Pucey attempts to help them; he succeeds for a while but in the end has to ask Harry to stun him before he's drawn to the flames.

Their attention is stolen again when one of Hogsmeade's larger homes erupts into flames. With Scrimgeour and his fellow Aurors engaged in literally knocking people out, Harry heads alone toward the burning home even as a second bursts into flame. He encounters two Death Eaters; he stuns one, and returns fire from the second with a Reductor curse that destroys the Death Eater's lower leg. The Death Eaters have sealed the residents into their homes. Harry looks through the windows of a third home in horror as their burning branch catches an interior wall on fire and the residents calmly walk into the flames.

Harry returns to the two incapacitated Death Eaters. He binds them and demands to know how to unseal the homes. The one whose leg is destroyed speaks little English. The other is young and sounds Scottish. Harry drags him by the cloak toward the burning home; the Death Eater, thinking that Harry is going to cast him into the flames, relents and gives Harry the counter-curses. Harry stuns him again and begins racing from home to home.

Harry finds Ron pounding on the windows of the Brown home, which is already afire. Half of the family has already marched into the flames, but Lavender is at the sealed window – the room is mostly smoke-filled. Harry casts the counter-curse and she opens the window. There is a loud sucking sound as air rushes in, and the fire explodes outward. Harry and Ron are thrown more than twenty feet, and a severely burned Lavender falls nearby. Ron shouts for help and tries to cast the few healing charms that a sixth year knows. Harry tells Ron to pick her up and proceeds to pop Ron and Lavender to the Hogwarts infirmary and a shocked Madam Pomfrey. Harry runs out of the infirmary door and pops back to Hogsmeade, where he continues his dash from house to house.

Once the houses are liberated, there is an equally large problem as people promptly begin flowing toward the bonfire. Harry finds Croaker with Madam McIlvaine and Hermione; Hermione apparently summoned him with a Patronus. Croaker identifies the flames as the Fire of Prometheus, which Madam McIlvaine knows as Demon's Fire. The fire will draw out all things magical within the boundaries of its summoning, which appear to surround the entire village. They argue vehemently about what to do. Goldstein points out that there appears to be a hole in the ritual seals for the fire, which may allow it to escape the village and enter the Forbidden Forest. Scrimgeour states the obvious: that this would allow it to head unimpeded toward Hogwarts itself.

The argument is broken by the growing effort needed to force people away from the growing fire by whatever means necessary. Croaker announces that he's off to bring a group of Unspeakables. Madam McIlvaine and Goldstein realise that Hermione has already initiated a ritual; too late to interrupt, they scurry to help her bring it off properly.

A whirlwind appears next to the bonfire and begins to suck in the magical flames. A noxious smell fills the village as first the bonfire and then the flames within each home are drawn into the whirlwind and apparently sent to nothingness. Hermione struggles to contain the whirlwind, but succeeds in sending it away after Madam McIlvaine fails.

The Unspeakables arrive with Croaker just as Hermione, Madam McIlvaine and Goldstein are closing the ritual. One of the Unspeakables is Mr. Whyte, whom Harry met briefly at MacLeish's party and who was identified there as the Head Unspeakable. He accuses Hermione of engaging in banned practices by summoning a Whirling Dervish. Madam McIlvaine stares Mr. Whyte down and declares that she performed the summoning but required the assistance of the two students to complete the ritual. The Unspeakables continue buzzing about Hermione's involvement and their desire to know more about how she did it.

Harry coldly interrupts and points out that they should be more interested in who started the magical fire in the first place. Chastened, the Compact family members other than Madam McIlvaine are brought to the Three Broomsticks and questioned by Scrimgeour, observed by Mr. Whyte, Croaker and Harry. While the two youngest are willing to speak, the next called forth refuses to say a word until Whyte and Croaker are dismissed and the room swept for any monitoring devices they might have planted. When they show no willingness to comply, Harry ushers the two men out. Mr. Whyte makes vaguely threatening comments to Harry; Harry responds by casually pointing out that while the Dept. of Mysteries is independent of the rest of the Ministry, its funding is not. Mr. Whyte leaves; Croaker berates Harry for making an enemy of Mr. Whyte and the Unspeakables; Harry dismisses Croaker entirely.

One of the elder Compact family heads – Lochsley, the one who Harry watched suspiciously at the outset – is evasive while questioned. The man manages to cast a wandless confounding ward unrecognised by everyone (Madam McIlvaine concludes later that it was a specific family magic), and escapes along with three of the four captured Death Eaters. Scrimgeour, at a loss for how to proceed, summons Madam Bones – who was on duty in Diagon Alley per the Minister's request.

Bones, in consultation with Scrimgeour, Madam McIlvaine, the village chief Macandra, Harry and others, concludes that it is for the best to assign responsibility to the Death Eaters, until or unless the involvement of the Compact family head is found to be of his own free will. Dumbledore, who arrives quite late, agrees – and further agrees that Minister Fudge should receive an expurgated report of the event.

Adrian Pucey is unable to find Cho Chang. It is eventually confirmed that she perished in the fire.

Before the evening is done, it is determined that forty-six people were consumed and fifty-three injured; two Death Eaters died and four were captured. Scrimgeour and his Aurors, with help from Harry, Adrian Pucey, Anthony Goldstein and others, kept as many as eighty people from walking into the fire. Madam Rosmerta, her barmaids and Ginny Weasley held dozens inside the Three Broomsticks.

Harry and Hermione return to Hogwarts. On the way, she tells him that two of Scrimgeour's Aurors had flanked her to prevent the Unspeakables from attempting to spirit her away; they had done the same for Anthony Goldstein until it was clear that the Unspeakables had little or no interest in him.

H and H arrive at the Hospital Wing to a distraught Ron and the two remaining (and injured) members of the Brown family. Lavender died from her burns, despite Madam Pomfrey's best efforts and the summoning of healers from St. Mungo's. H and H attempt to comfort Ron, who is convinced that he somehow killed her. Ginny arrives with Anthony Goldstein and Adrian Pucey. Everyone is shaken, although Harry notices that Goldstein seems to be holding up better than the rest; chalks it up to him being further removed than the rest (even though Cho was his housemate).

Unlike Ron, Adrian Pucey is angry rather than distraught. Harry prevents him from making a magical oath to avenge Cho, and makes him promise to meet with Harry before he does anything rash.

Family members begin to trickle in. H and H take the opportunity to leave. Exhausted, they both go to Harry's quarters. Without prelude – no cleaning up, undressing, etc – they fall asleep in his bed.

* * * * * * * * * *

FOLLOW WITH JANUARY 1 DAILY PROPHET ARTICLE

Fudge in serious difficulty, over his decision ("based on excellent intelligence") to concentrate Auror resources at Diagon Alley

DFDL broke up a Death Eater raid in Cornwall during the New Year events; with commitment of Auror forces, DMLE never even responded

Uncertainty over how Hogsmeade was saved; rumours that it was through the invocation of arcane and Dark magic, but no complaints to be found from the villagers


	2. Jan & Feb 1997: The Lions In Winter

HARRY POTTER and the YEARS OF REBELLION

**JANUARY & FEBRUARY 1997: THE LIONS IN WINTER**

Just got back from a month playing in Europe and start school again on Wednesday. I have 17 credits this fall so not much free time. Spent a lot of yesterday with Mike and he says Hi. He looks pretty rough but Mike and my aunt are positive about what they're doing for him at Mayo. Mike picked the scenes in here from some stuff I put together from his notes. I asked him what to call it and he said The Lions In Winter. It's a play off of an old movie that he likes.

AMP

* * * * * * * * * *

**MASSACRE AT HOGSMEADE!**

_Were Death Eaters responsible, or taking advantage?_

_Compact Family scion held as "person of interest"_

_Controversy over Auror assignments_

_The Chosen One and Hogwarts students saved lives_

What was supposed to be a blessing turned into a nightmare in Hogsmeade, shortly after the New Year broke. The Hogmanay bonfire was corrupted into a magical fire that somehow drew revellers willingly into the flames. Many residents were trapped in their homes when branches lit from the fire burst into the same magical flames. St. Mungo's Hospital received thirty-seven casualties and sixty-two injured. Several of the most severely injured were received at the Hogwarts infirmary along with at least two casualties. This was the largest terror attack to occur in Britain since the so-called Battle of Diagon Alley in 1980, where ninety-four wizards and witches lost their lives and hundreds more were injured.

The fire in question is so rare and dangerous that its existence is classified by the Department of Mysteries. Anonymous sources referred to it as "The Fire of Prometheus" and "Devil's Fire". It proved unquenchable until the head of one of the Compact Families used an ancient ritual to invoke a whirlwind. Madam Melisende McIlvaine, Mistress of the House of McIlvaine and member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, required the assistance of upper-form Hogwarts students to carry off the ritual. One observer said that the magic "was on par with Dumbledore's best". An expert amongst the revellers reported that it had been at least 300 years since similar magic was publicly performed.

In the immediate aftermath, two Wizengamot members from old-line families suggested that Madam McIlvaine should be held for trial under the terms of the 1407 Compact. Ministry officials quickly quashed the idea. Rufus Scrimgeour, Head Auror and DMLE commander on the scene, said that hundreds more might have died had Madam McIlvaine not taken action. Scrimgeour also dismissed suggestions that the students who provided assistance to Madam McIlvaine should be expelled and have their wands snapped. "It was all we could do to keep people from jumping into the fire, let alone trying to put it out," Mr. Scrimgeour said. The Head Auror also gave quick credit to Harry Potter – the Chosen One – and several Hogwarts students who joined the small company of Aurors in protecting residents and revellers.

Mr. Potter deflected the praise and pointed to Adrian Pucey, Hogwarts Head Boy and an accomplisher conjurer in the making. Mr. Pucey, clearly tired and distraught, told reporters, "The Dementor's Kiss is too good for whoever did this. They deserve to suffer." Miss Cho Chang, Mr. Pucey's steady companion and Hogwarts Head Girl, was amongst those who perished.

Mr. Ronald Weasley, Mr. Potter's close friend and well known for heroics in his own right, saved at least two families from the flames. He also joined Mr. Potter in subduing several apparent Death Eaters. 'Bloody Harry' and his friends took down three of the terrorists permanently, an act for which this reporter and many others give thanks. It is unknown at this time whether the Death Eaters were responsible for starting the cursed fire, but their numbers at the scene give one pause. Mr. Weasley, who also lost his steady companion to the flames, directed attention to those most affected. "We (the Weasley family) lost everything last summer, so I know what it's like. There are a lot of houses completely burned. Hogsmeade needs help," Mr. Weasley said.

Professor Albus Dumbledore, who was heading abroad in his capacity as ICW Supreme Mugwump just as the disaster occurred, has temporarily opened Hogwarts to those without homes and has asked upper-form students to consider returning early in order to assist with salvage and reconstruction. "Britain has not seen a tragedy on this scale in nearly twenty years, and we must do all we are able to provide comfort and assistance," Mr. Dumbledore said. In ominous fashion, he added that he feared this was the first attack of its kind rather than the last.

In the aftermath, questions have been raised about Minister Fudge's order to place more than three-quarters of on-duty Aurors at Diagon Alley and only six Aurors at Hogsmeade. Not only was Hogsmeade woefully unprotected, but the Minister's order left just four Aurors free to address other emergencies across England. The Office of the Minister offered no comment on the matter.

Thankfully, the Dark Forces Defence League was on high alert in support of the DMLE. Aurors responded to two other incidents last evening, one of which may have been a Death Eater attack. DFDL regulars responded to four minor incidents and also assisted healers from St. Mungo's in two emergencies.

DFDL spokeswizard Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart told reporters that five DFDL regulars were on hand in Hogsmeade, but the DMLE's Mr. Scrimgeour said that they failed to make themselves know to Aurors on site and that he did not know whether or how they lent assistance. Madam Amelia Bones, director of the DMLE, nonetheless thanked the DFDL for its efforts. "Coordination has been a bit ragged, but we're glad for the League's support at a time when the need for policing is high and Department staffing is at a historic low," said Madam Bones.

The DMLE took Mr. Laurence Lochsley, scion of the House of Lochsley, into custody at the scene as a 'person of interest'. Madam Bones said that Mr. Lochsley was not suspected at this time of committing any crimes. She indicated that Mr. Lochsley would remain in custody while receiving attention from healers. No further information was available at press time.

_List of the deceased __**A2**_

_The scene at Hogsmeade, as described by survivors __**A4**_

_A disaster, in pictures __**A5-A8**_

_DFDL to step up its efforts in support of the Ministry __**A9**_

_Did diviners predict the massacre in advance? __**A9**_

_Curse experts speculate on "The Fire of Prometheus"__** A10**_

_What is the 1409 Compact, and why does it matter? __**A12**_

_Goblin leaders 'appalled' by loss of life; prepared to offer unprecedented aid __**B14**_

_For national coverage, see __**B1 **_

_For seven-day weather and other divinatory predictions, see __**B2**_

_For full Quidditch coverage, see __**B3-B8**_

_For coverage of your locale, see__** B9-12**_

_Arithmancer's Corner: Centaurs say Mars is exceptionally bright __**B13**_

– the _Daily Prophet_, January 1, 1997

* * * * * * * * * *

_**January 2, 1997**_

"You should try to sleep," Hermione called out.

"Can't… too much on my mind," mumbled Harry, though he knew she wouldn't hear him. He rose up from a chair on the veranda of his quarters and stretched. His shoulders pulled painfully and for some reason his feet were quite sore.

Hermione's hand came down on his shoulder from behind. "Sharing a bed once was enough for you?" she whispered into his ear.

Harry's mouth quirked into a half-grin and he said, "You _do_ keep the bedcovers warm… quite pleasant, really. I wonder how long Dumbledore will let us get by with it?"

She squeezed his shoulder firmly and he gave a yelp. "You're one giant knot, aren't you?" she sighed.

Harry slowly rolled his neck. "I don't know why; it's not like it was physical work," he said.

"You were casting continuously for over nine hours. No one casts continuously for that long, not even Professor Dumbledore. I honestly thought you wouldn't stop until you fell unconscious," Hermione said.

"There's just so much… so many people… I can't stand it, Hermione! All these people suffering, and I'm the only one who can put a stop to it in the end, and I _can't_ – not yet, at least," said Harry.

"Things can't be set right in one day, or two, or a week. I doubt Hogsmeade will be totally rebuilt for months, or years perhaps. You can't fix everything – no one can," countered Hermione.

Harry rubbed at his forehead – it felt tight, almost burned, and his temples were throbbing. "Bugger… I think it's getting worse," he said.

Hermione started, "A headache? How long have you had a headache? I could have fetched a pain potion –"

Harry cut her off, "I don't think… AUGGGHH!" His knees buckled and he collapsed. He tried to open his eyes, and was rewarded by a stabbing pain so intense that he nearly bit through his lower lip. He heard Hermione shouting, "Harry!" but she was miles away, or maybe underwater…

- - - - - - - - - -

_He was absolutely furious – the sort of fury where the tendons of the neck stand out and the face reddens and the corners of the mouth dampen with spittle. Part of him wanted to take one of his most senior servants and expel the man's entrails in full view of all of his assembled chosen. The rest of him, however, understood that the inner circle was already dangerously small; that this failure was atypical of the man as he once was; and that it was necessary to motivate as well as to punish._

_It was curious to him that his fury was more controlled within this body and mind – just as clear, just as deep, but without the intemperance that had plagued him within the ritual-borne shell. He was no longer the Lord Voldemort of 1995, but more the Lord Voldemort of 1975: brilliant, persuasive, tactical in this thoughts and deeds, and able to put anger to good use._

_He crossed his arms with visible displeasure and fixed a sharp gaze on each of his followers in turn, even though they couldn't see his face within the darkness of his hooded cloak. None but Pettigrew and Bellatrix met his eyes; one was enraptured and the other insane, and there were days when it was hard to know which description was most apt._

"_The events of the New Year did not turn out as expected," he said, almost casually; "This merits a thorough review. Rabastan!"_

"_Yes, my Lord!" his minion said immediately, and knelt before him._

_He said, "There was no confusion at Diagon Alley, no urgency, and most importantly, no diversion of any kind. Explain."_

_Lestrange began,"There were two dozen Aurors in the crowd, and twice that many from the Defence League –"_

"_Do not be concerned about the League. Leave them to me," he said calmly._

"_Y-yes, my Lord. There were also goblin warriors stationed at most rooftops. We could not place any of our men in high positions. From low positions, the crowd blocked our sightlines –"_

_He cut Lestrange off, "Yes, yes, enough. Your assessment receives full marks. I am pleased that you returned with your men intact and able to fight another day. Still, you could have withdrawn most of your force and left two or three to set fires, break into storefronts. The goal was to sow confusion, Rabastan, and the goal was not achieved."_

"_I – I did not think of leaving behind a small number, my Lord," Lestrange said, his head hung low._

_He let the room sit silent for half a minute before he said, "You failed, Lestrange… but by avoiding a situation in which you could not win, you left the possibility of redeeming yourself in my service. Let it not be said that Lord Voldemort is without mercy. Rise, my faithful servant."_

"_M-my Lord is most merciful," Lestrange said._

_He nodded and said, "We must return to the days of my successes. Recall how much damage could be done, how much fear could be stirred up by small numbers of men? You and the others who served me in better days: you must be the ones to teach my newer servants what it means to be a true Death Eater. You must think, Rabastan! You have shaken off the shackles of Azkaban, and now you must shake off the shackles of a weak and idle mind. With each journey amongst the unworthy, each deed performed in my service, you must send a message: Lord… Voldemort… is… back."_

"_I am grateful for your teachings, my Lord – you are indeed returned," said Lestrange._

_He smiled within the shadows of his cloak, and declared, "To those of you who were under Rabastan's command, fear not: there will be further opportunities to serve. You were unseen and well organised. You followed orders. In this, you performed well. Rabastan, take your men and celebrate this success. Tomorrow, you will step up their training and begin to rotate them amongst the household sorties under Rodolphus's command."_

_Lestrange stood tall and barked, "Yes, my Lord! May you reign for a thousand years!"_

_His hidden smile grew and he said, "Indeed."_

_Lestrange turned to face his men, who made up the centre third of the gathered audience, and shouted, "Hail Lord Voldemort!" The men returned his shout, and left in an orderly manner._

_He allowed another long silence before he said, "Do you see? Rabastan remembers the way things once were, and shall be again. Rodolphus, come forward."_

"_Yes, my Lord," said the other Lestrange brother._

_He said, "Rodolphus, since the outset of my household sorties, you have lost thirteen of mine by death or capture. Did any of those captured possess information of value?"_

"_No, my Lord. Only the leaders of each sortie are given the full mission information, and they are instructed to lead from the rear position. They also hold the primary escape portkey," Rodolphus reported._

"_How many households have been struck?" he asked._

"_Forty-seven," Rodolphus said._

"_Casualties?" he asked._

"_As best as we are able to tell, my Lord, there have been eighty-eight killed, twenty with long-term injuries, forty-one with short-term injuries, and sixty-three who successfully fled," said Rodolphus._

"_Of the forty-seven, how many properties were destroyed?" he asked._

"_Twenty-two were levelled, of which four were cursed according to your instructions. The other twenty-five were all damaged, some of them severely," Rodolphus said._

"_How many of your men have gone out on more than one sortie – of those who are still with us, of course?" he asked._

"_There are seventeen sortie groups, my Lord, so all the men have been on multiple missions. Group Alpha has conducted six missions and has lost only one man, that being on the first sortie," said Rodolphus._

"_Outstanding, Rodolphus. The leader of this Group Alpha… what would you say of his potential?" he asked._

"_He is skilled, my Lord – skilled and quite clever… and ambitious," Rodolphus returned._

"_I will meet this Group leader tomorrow – see to it," he ordered._

"_Yes, my Lord."_

_He said, "This Group Alpha leader of yours and all of his men are to receive bonuses, Rodolphus. You are paying per sortie?"_

"_Yes, my Lord."_

"_Double their compensation, retroactive to… the second sortie. Lord Voldemort will not reward the initial failure," he said._

"_You are most generous, my Lord."_

_He said, "Yes. Yes, I am. You are dismissed, with the appreciation of your Lord. Lord Voldemort extends his appreciation to all those under your command."_

"_Hail Lord Voldemort!" Rodolphus's men said in unison without prompting._

_His hidden smile returned. "Excellent! Rodolphus, I will grant you a boon. Think carefully on this; we will discuss it next week. Continue with your work."_

"_Yes, my Lord!" Rodolphus said, with a hint of relief in his voice that only his lord could hear; he and his men promptly left the chamber._

"_Antonin, come forward," he snapped._

"_Yes, my Lord," Dolohov responded._

"_Hogsmeade was a disaster," he said flatly._

"_Yes, my Lord," Dolohov returned; there was the slightest tremor in the man's voice. It was delicious._

"_Do you still insist that it is wise for us to recruit beyond our own land and other English-speaking countries?" he asked._

"_M-my Lord, it served us well in days past… English, it is not my mother tongue…" Dolohov managed._

_He said in a low voice, "Good… very good. I'm glad to know that your years in Azkaban did not rob you of your spine. You are correct that our recruitment should span far and wide. Lord Voldemort seeks to build a worldwide movement. I would not have any concerns in this area, Antonin… had you bothered to order the casting of proper TRANSLATION CHARMS!"_

"_The squad leaders, my Lord, they were charged with –"_

"_ENOUGH! The failure is yours – accept it!" he hissed._

"_Yes, my Lord," Dolohov said, even as he fell to his knees._

_He extended his arm and swept the room with his hand. "Is this your entire company?" he asked._

"_Yes, my Lord."_

"_How many did you lose?"_

"_Eleven, my Lord."_

_He steepled his hands and sat quietly for several moments, and then rose abruptly to his feet. "Eleven. You lost eleven men. The Daily Prophet reported three dead. Eight were captured?" he asked._

"_F-five were captured, my Lord. Three men, they died in the flames. Potter, he killed the other three," reported Dolohov._

"_How many squad leaders participated in the mission?" he asked._

"_Five, my Lord. Four returned," Dolohov said._

"_Who was the best of the five?" he asked._

"_The one who died, my Lord," said Dolohov._

"_And the worst…?"_

"_Schmidt, my Lord. He did not follow orders. I will punish him for this."_

_He walked slowly, deliberately past Dolohov. "That is neither your place, nor your decision to make. Who is Schmidt? Stand, now!" he commanded._

_A tall, blond-haired man with aristocratic features rose from his knees and stood at attention. "I am Karl Schmidt, my Lord," the man said in English coloured by a crisp accent._

"_Does Antonin speak the truth, Schmidt? Did you disobey his orders?" he snapped._

"_I did, my Lord. I offer no excuses and accept the consequences of my actions," said Schmidt._

_He paused for a moment and then said, "How… unexpected. What orders were disobeyed?"_

_Schmidt said evenly, "There are two orders in question, my Lord. The first was with regard to the casting of six spells, one each upon the men under my command. Commander Dolohov said that no magic was to be used within the village until he ordered it so. When the fire became uncontrolled, I cast a confundus charm upon the men to prevent them from responding to the flames. The second was with regard to the Granger woman, my Lord."_

"_Continue," he said sharply._

"_The commander ordered that the Granger woman be apprehended and brought to him. I believed that this was in violation of your own order, my Lord. You ordered that the woman was to be left not only unharmed but untouched. The manner in which the commander issued his order led me to believe that the woman was to be taken for purpose of retribution," said Schmidt; "Nonetheless, I violated the orders of my direct commander and accept the consequences of my actions."_

_He was taken aback by this man, and decided to continue. "You speak as though you come from a military background. Where did you complete your magical education?" he asked._

"_Durmstrang, my Lord. I studied under Herr Volkov and completed in 1983," said Schmidt._

"_Ahh, so you left before Karkarov assumed the headship," he said._

"_Herr Volkov was a scholar and a gentlemen; I believe he will be unmatched in my lifetime. As for Karkarov… I have little regard for traitors, my Lord," Schmidt said._

_He said, "Well spoken, Schmidt… and your bearing? Surely you did not gain this from German or Russian Aurors?"_

_Schmidt explained, "I am what the English consider a full-blood, my Lord. The line of my mother extends fourteen generations. My father is the son of… forgive my English… a 'squib'? My grandfather was the fourth son of Herr Klaus Schmidt –"_

_He cut the man off, "Klaus Schmidt was the cultural minister under Lord Grindelwald, was he not?"_

"_That is correct, my Lord," said Schmidt._

"_Continue."_

"_Yes, my Lord. Herr Schmidt was instructed by Lord Grindelwald to enlist my grandfather in the German army. Lord Grindelwald was interested in Muggle military tactics and determined this to be a suitable place for a squib. Because of the outcome of the war, my grandfather was the only survivor of the line. He required my father to also serve in the army following his time at Durmstrang – the Austrian army, my Lord – and the same was required of me. I quit my commission in 1993 to work as a journeyman at Gregorovitch, and was not pleased by the current state of wizardry. I was recruited in October by Commander Dolohov," Schmidt finished._

_He turned to Dolohov and snarled, "Antonin, you recruited a man who understands how to organise soldiers and whose family has a history of allegiance to Lord Grindelwald himself, and did not inform me of this?"_

"_He did not prove himself to my satisfaction, my Lord," Dolohov said._

"_Why did you seek to apprehend Miss Granger?" he demanded._

_Dolohov began, "It was my intention to bring her to you, my Lord, so that she would learn the proper place –"_

"_Was there any ambiguity in my orders? Were you somehow confused?" he asked._

"_No, my Lord, I…"_

"_Rise, Antonin," he said; "Rise, and look into my eyes."_

_Dolohov said, "My Lord, I…" before he screamed and shook violently._

_He tore his eyes away and hissed, "So… she is the one who escaped you in the Department of Mysteries?"_

"_Y-yes, my Lord…"_

"_You couldn't tolerate the idea of having been bested by a school girl, an unqualified witch."_

"_N-no, my Lord… I…"_

_He crossed his arms and paced for more than a minute, before he said, "Herr Schmidt, join me."_

"_Yes, my Lord," Schmidt said._

"_Look me in the eyes. It will not be so… abrupt as what Herr Dolohov experienced," he said._

_After several moments, he withdrew and said, "You speak without guile. You are loyal to your chain of command, and will disregard a command only in the event of a conflicting order from a higher authority or when the mission is in jeopardy. You have served my cause faithfully for three months without benefit of a mark of service. I am pleased."_

"_Thank you, my Lord," said Schmidt._

"_Herr Schmidt, remain here if you would. Antonin, remain standing. As for the rest of you, come off your knees and be seated," he said. With one wave of his wand, three-dozen comfortable chairs appeared._

_When the assembled were seated, he began to pace again and said, "It is rare that I have the opportunity to teach. At one time, I had hoped to join the faculty at Hogwarts. When a new order has been established and we are at peace under my leadership, perhaps I shall lecture there on occasion. In fact… it may be for the best that I directly instruct those who are new to our brethren. I shall meditate on this. _

"_For today, I begin by asking which of you has more than passing experience amongst the Muggles. Raise your hands, if you please… there is no incorrect answer, so do not fear to raise them. Ahh… it is as I expected. Of thirty-five, only four have meaningful experience with the Muggles. You there… yes, with the thick shock of hair. What is your name?"_

"_I am called Warden, mein Lord – Franz Warden," the man said in a rough voice._

"_Describe your experience with the Muggles," he ordered._

"_We are farmers for eight generations, mein Lord. We trade with the Muggles when needed. They are rude and cruel and one tried to force himself on my sister. The Muggles, they are no good," the man replied._

"_Would you say that the Muggles are dangerous, then?" he asked._

"_Ja, mein Lord. They hunt animals with their loud, smoking weapons, and they drive the automobiles that frighten the chickens, and they cheat and steal, and the one with my sister carried a knife," the man said._

"_And what did you do to him?" he asked._

"_I cast the Cruciatus curse on the swine, mein Lord," said Warden._

"_Very good, Warden. You may sit," he said, and then he reached into his robes; "Herr Schmidt, identify this device."_

"_It is a pistol. From here, I would say that it is a Walther P88 semiautomatic. By your leave, my Lord?" Schmidt said as he reached forward._

"_I grant you my leave," he said._

_Schmidt held the pistol up, pointed it away from all those assembled and sighted down the barrel, checked the magazine and the firing action, and then said, "It is fully functional, my Lord. Shall I leave the safety disengaged?"_

"_I assume this 'safety' would prevent the weapon from firing?"_

"_Yes, my Lord."_

"_Leave it, please."_

"_Yes, my Lord."_

_He took back the pistol and held it loosely. "This is a firearm – a pistol, as Herr Schmidt called it. The pistol releases small projectiles called bullets at a speed of several hundred miles per hour. It is a rather destructive weapon at close range. The Muggles have millions of such weapons, and far, far worse. This is a trifling sample of why the Muggles are dangerous to us. There are very real and compelling reasons for the separation between the Muggles and us. We must soon establish more than today's thin separation, as their capabilities for self-destruction are several orders of magnitude greater than in Grindelwald's time and are continuing to grow. _

"_Now, then… bullets move more rapidly than spell fire. A shield can block them, but a Muggle with some expertise will in most cases hit a wizard with the bullet before a shield can be raised. Let me demonstrate –"_

_With no warning, he pointed the pistol at Dolohov's leg and pulled the trigger rapidly. Three bullets pierced Dolohov's calf before the man reacted. _

_As the senior Death Eater screamed and rolled on the floor, Schmidt said calmly, "The P88 is a good pistol: reliability combined with superb accuracy."_

_He said, "Noted. Get up, Antonin."_

"_I… I can't, muh… my Luh… Lord…" Dolohov gasped._

"_Pity," he said flatly._

"_May I give aid to my field commander, my Lord?" Schmidt asked._

_He said, "Your loyalty does you credit, Herr Schmidt. I deny your request," and then made a show of skilfully inspecting the pistol and re-setting the safety. Schmidt surely received the message directed toward him: never assume that the Dark Lord's knowledge has any bounds. _

_He was also certain that all those assembled recognised the insult to Dolohov. He had punished his Death Eater not only in full view of the recruits but also with a Muggle weapon. The point to all assembled was simply: Dolohov's crime was so vile that he wasn't worthy of magical punishment. A quick glance around the room confirmed his certainty._

_Dolohov reached a shaky hand toward his wand and asked, "Muh… may I h-heal muh… my…"_

_He shook his head and said, "Casting a healing charm would be a rather bad idea, Antonin. I'll explain in a moment." With a flick of his wrist, a tourniquet formed just below Dolohov's knee. He continued, "Now then, my servants, let us discuss the concept of pride. Those who pollute their minds with religious ideas refer to pride as a sin. In a sense, I grant that they are correct. Herr Warden, what is the problem with pride?"_

"_W-we try to, ehh, satisfy it, my Lord?" Warden offered hesitantly._

"_You're on the right track, Warden – partial marks for that," he said; "Can any of you build upon that thought? Yes – you in the third row. Your name?"_

"_My name ist Gruber, mein Lord," the man said; "When a leader's pride is more important than the mission, the soldiers are put in danger."_

"_Full marks, Gruber," he said._

"_If I may, mein Lord, this was learned from Herr Schmidt. We ist alive today because of him," Gruber said._

_He nodded slightly and said, "And Herr Schmidt succeeded because…? It was because he put the mission first. Some of my elder servants are still suffering weakened faculties from their time in Azkaban. I promise that you will not share a similar fate. Soon, Lord Voldemort will be able to recover his servants from Azkaban at will._

"_Returning to the lesson… Herr Schmidt, a question: if I ordered you to kill your father, would you do so?" _

_Schmidt said, "My father is an honourable man from a family that has long supported the advancement of wizardry and the greater good that Lord Grindelwald proclaimed. I would ask my Lord's favour to seek another way to prove my worth. However, if my Lord ordered such an action to further the greater good, then I would carry out that order."_

_He said, "I am not ordering you to kill your father, Herr Schmidt. Firstly, Lord Voldemort begins with encouragement before resorting to punishment. Secondly, it would not make for a very productive mission, would it? My servants, I award full marks for this answer to my question." _

_Dolohov groaned in pain, so he returned his attention to the fallen Death Eater and said, "Now, Antonin, I will explain to you why it was best to refrain from casting a healing charm on your rather grievously abused lower leg. The bullets contained within this pistol were soaked in Manticore venom." He paused for the chorus of gasps from his audience and then went on, "Even now, the venom is spreading. I believe you will find Healer Penfold at the far end of the main corridor. If you make it to her tender mercies in the next ten minutes, she will most likely be able to salvage your leg. In fifteen minutes, I expect that it will have to be removed below the knee. In twenty minutes, you will likely lose the entire leg. In twenty-five minutes… well, let's not fret about that. Go on with you, Antonin. Make your way to the healer."_

"_Buh… but my L-lord… I cannot walk…" Dolohov mumbled._

"_You have two arms that function. You have one leg that will support you. You have a wand. I am confident that you can manage this on your own," he said nonchalantly._

_It took Dolohov nearly four minutes to splint his leg, conjure a staff, and clamber to his feet. It was another two minutes before the Death Eater reached the doors that connected the audience chamber with the main corridor. The silence – punctuated only by Dolohov's groans and moans – was excruciating for his other servants, and he knew it. As soon as Dolohov left the chamber, the large doors closed of their own accord._

_He strode slowly back to his chair atop its dais, lowered himself into it, and sat silent for nearly two minutes before he said, "The bullets were not coated with Manticore venom. You see, the most powerful engine of fear lies within your own minds. Even now, Mr. Dolohov's fear of amputation or death is causing him as much pain as any curse. The greatest warriors have always understood how to use their enemy's own fear as a weapon._

"_Mr. Dolohov was punished today because of his pride. A young woman bested him in battle. I ordered that this young woman is to remain unharmed and untouched – and I remind you all that this order remains in effect. He set out to defy my order so that he could satisfy his pride. A subordinate who remained true to the mission thwarted him. Since his return from Azkaban, Mr. Dolohov's greatest victories for me thus far result from his greatest failures… such a delicious irony, wouldn't you agree? _

"_All of you will be reassigned to other tasks based upon the reviews and deliberations of my senior Death Eaters. This lecture is concluded and you are to leave my chambers at once. Pettigrew, take the men so that they may tend to their wounds and their appetites. Bellatrix, go and see that Antonin makes it to the infirmary. Herr Schmidt, attend me." _

_- - - - - - - - - -_

The first thing Harry saw when he recovered his sense was the inside of a conjured bucket. This immediately invoked what Oliver Wood had once called the First Rule of Spewing: the sight and smell of spew begets more spew.

"Dumbledore," he choked out.

Hermione babbled, "Harry… oh, thank God! I didn't know what else to do, I was afraid you'd choke, so… I'm so sorry, I should have sent a message to Madam Pomfrey or –"

He lifted his head slowly while holding his breath. As soon as he was clear of the bucket, he managed to say, "Get to Dumbledore… have to get to Dumbledore."

"Was it _him_?" Hermione asked.

He nodded weakly and said, "Never like this… he didn't force me out… not sure he even knew I was there. I saw it all."

There was a catch in her voice as she asked, "What did you see?"

"A meeting… he wasn't happy about Hogsmeade… he shot Dolohov," Harry said.

She looked at him like he'd gone 'round the twist. "_Shot_ him? With a _gun_?"

He said, "He was making a point. He's different now."

She said, "A _gun_… I don't understand. It's such a Muggle thing, you know?"

"That was the point," he said.

Hermione began, "You said he's different. I know you've mentioned his voice before, the way his hands are different –"

"Not that sort of 'different'," Harry said; "I actually think he's more dangerous now."

There was nothing she could say to that.

* * * * * * * * * *

_**January 4, 1997**_

Harry shuddered away the sensation of being squeezed through a tube, even as the Headmaster released his arm and moved away to offer condolences. He walked in the opposite direction until he came upon a rise that overlooked the entire area.

The Brown family and friends were gathered around a stone circle – like pictures he'd seen of Stonehenge, Harry thought – in a greening meadow surrounded by undulating winter-struck pastureland for as far as the eye could see. Clearly there was some sort of weather ward placed in addition to Notice-Me-Nots and such. Dumbledore had the advantage of knowing and being known by everyone in attendance, and the Headmaster was always comfortable with that, at least to Harry's eye. For his part, there was still some of the silent wallflower in Harry. He was comfortable in anonymous crowds, but not amongst people who knew or thought they knew him. It didn't help that he was woefully unprepared for what was about to happen.

A large hand came down on his shoulder and he returned to attention; "Sorry…?" he said.

The hand belonged to Reverend Pomfrey – Madam Pomfrey's brother and one of the Headmaster's old-old crowd. "Feeling a bit out of your depth, lad?" the Reverend asked.

"Professor Dumbledore taught me all the parts of a Sending – all the incantations, the rune sets, the casting – but… well, I'm not sure what I think of it, honestly," said Harry.

The Reverend smiled and said, "I like an honest answer, especially when it comes to matters of faith." He directed Harry's attention toward a clutch of very old black-clad wizards gathered just outside the circle, and went on, "Those are the old guard of the Brown family. I imagine the patriarch would be the grandfather or great-grandfather of your classmate – may God grant her eternal rest. To them, a Sending might be seen as a necessary step in getting your friend's soul to the next life, the Great Beyond, or what have you. It is literally a sending of the soul, so they believe. For others, even of that age, the Sending is the pureblood equivalent of a funeral pyre. The younger the wizard, the more likely that they view this as being merely tradition, a family ritual of sorts."

"What do you think?" Harry asked.

"Please understand that as a called rector and a believing Christian, I take a somewhat different view of the soul than most of my fellows here," the Reverend explained. "Do I think that the Sending is the means by which a wizard's soul is sent back into the care of God? The answer is no, naturally. Beyond that… well, I'm a bit twisted around on the matter. Perhaps a Sending sends a wizard's magic to join the soul? We are different than Muggles in some manner that transcends the physical body, and I can't honestly say what happens to our magic when we die. Part of that comes down to whether we ourselves are magic or are simply using the magic around us as a tool, you know? Is it our magic at all? That's an entirely different question to struggle over, of course. The point, Harry, is that I can't say what it is exactly that a Sending _sends_. I know what I have seen in the act of a Sending, but as with almost anything, there's more afoot than we can capture with mere mortal eyes. Perhaps, Harry, what we make of a Sending is matter of one's own beliefs and faith? At the least, it is a funerary rite. It doesn't involve communing with spirits or demons or a pagan god, so - in my eyes at least - it doesn't conflict with that which I believe. At the most…? Who knows? I'm not privy to God's plan for the universe, only the basic elements that have been shared with us. What do _you_ think?"

"Er… an honest answer?" said Harry.

The Reverend chuckled and said, "I lost you, didn't I? Ahh, well… these aren't simple matters, and I do tend to over-think on all matters temporal and spiritual. I didn't even enquire on what your beliefs might be, as I should have."

Harry shrugged. "My relations talked a good game, wrote their cheques to the church, went there sometimes – or at least they left the house for it; I suppose I can't really say whether they went or not. It was all a show for them, I think. It was like keeping up the garden: something they did for the neighbours more than anything. Things went all right for them anyway, even if they didn't really mean any of it. They took me to services one Christmas. I sang better than my cousin, so they didn't feed me for two days," he said.

The Reverend closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "Good heavens… hardly exemplars of Christian behaviour, were they? Now, this naturally raises the question of why bad things happen to those who are good, and good things to those who are bad. You've probably given that some thought on account of your circumstances. Well, I'm not here to ply you with religious tracts, and you're not here to listen to an old man's ramblings… well, not this old man, at least. I'll say this much to you: if you're ever plagued with questions such as these, my door is always open to you. I'm but a few miles from Hogwarts; Albus knows the way. As for today…? Albus isn't asking much of you, as I understand it. Follow along as best you can; I'll nudge you if it appears that you're in need of a good nudge; and allow yourself to be sad, to grieve over this. I have no idea how close you were to the young lady, but I do know she was in your house and your year. There's inevitably some loss on your part – even if it hasn't yet struck you. I understand she was your best friend's girl. He'll need your support, then, and he'll need it even more two weeks from now than he needs it today."

Harry was puzzled. "I'd think he needs it today," he said.

"Trust me on this," the Reverend assured him. "Today, everyone present is awash with the loss. Two weeks from now, people at a distance will have moved on. Even some of those closer to Miss Brown will have moved forward. Perhaps your friend will be one of those, or perhaps not. It's more difficult to grieve later, because people who are already over-and-done-with-it believe that everyone else should do the same. People sometimes begin to question whether a mourner is of healthy mind."

Harry thought on that for a long while. It was Dumbledore who brought him back to the present. "Come," the Headmaster said, and Harry complied.

Dumbledore was resplendent in his ornate robes. They weren't gaudy as was often his custom, but instead were almost regal. Harry's robes bore the same trim but were otherwise a plain off-white colour. They were stiff and rather uncomfortable, in truth. The Headmaster had explained earlier that in this setting he was not Headmaster or Mugwump or Warlock, but Grand Sorcerer; as such, Harry was an Adept rather than Apprentice, and was to be clothed accordingly. The Reverend wore a robe similar to Harry's, but also a silken stole that made him look more like a vicar than a wizard. Madam Marchbanks ambled along behind the Reverend. Last in their group was Tiberius Ogden, who was relaxed and seemed somehow comfortable with this place and circumstance.

A series of complex runic patterns were engraved into the earth within the stone circle. They began at a round raised platform situated in the centre, and extended outward in concentric circles that were joined by a spiralling line. The nearest runic circle to the platform was interrupted by four smaller circles at the compass points, each just large enough for one person to stand inside. The mourners began to assemble on the large runic circles. The surviving family members were led to that innermost circle: Lavender's aunt, along with her husband and small children; two uncles who looked to be in late middle age; a ten-year-old girl who had turned out to be Lavender's young sister; three elderly witches and a stooped wizard; and a very tall and very old wizard who was probably the patriarch that the Reverend had mentioned.

Harry followed the Headmaster toward the platform and then took his place inside the small circle that indicated West. Ogden, Marchbanks and the Reverend took up the other three. The remaining mourners followed; they assembled on the ever-larger runic circles but left clear the space around the spiralling line where it crossed each circle. Harry turned and realised that this was to allow room for the bier.

The bier was open, like a wheel-less cart with handles on its sides. Atop it was a human form fully draped by rune-adorned cloth. It was hard for Harry to accept the fact that bubbly, giggly, friendly Lavender Brown was reduced to that. Six people bore the weight: Ron, Neville, Parvati Patil, Mandy Brocklehurst, Ernie Macmillan, and – to his surprise – Hermione.

Harry had at first expected that the bier would simply be levitated into place rather than carried. He realised that there was something primal in watching the six wend along the spiralling line, coming into close contact with most of the mourners. There was something raw about their brief struggle to lift the bier atop the stone platform. There was something in the act that bound all those assembled more tightly than a mere charm or oath. When they were finished, his former year-mates joined the innermost circle along with Lavender's family. Dumbledore stood behind the bier and folded his hands together – a simple movement that somehow conveyed a dignity Harry wondered if he could ever master.

The Headmaster began by saying, "We gather here to celebrate and honour the life of Miss Lavender Brown… to share in her magic and to rejoin it with those who have gone before her. It is a sad day indeed when a family loses its youngest so long before her time. Miss Brown's parents are unable to be with us today as they are recuperating at St. Mungo's Hospital. It is difficult for most to imagine the depth of their loss, and I urge all of you to seek them out in the days and weeks to come, in order to convey your sympathies and to aid them in whatever fashion you are able. I have performed this ritual twenty-nine times for students of Hogwarts. It has been thirteen years since I have done this, and each time I hope that it is the last. It is a sad day when Hogwarts loses one of her own, one filled with promise for the future and now gone from us.

"Some gathered here tried most valiantly to save Miss Brown, and they may feel as though they have failed – that they did not try hard enough, did not do everything that could have been done. To those, I say that this is not your fault, and your efforts were not a failure. What you accomplished that evening was far beyond anything that could have been asked of you. Your actions show us all that humanity and compassion still live in our darkening world.

"Because Mr. Brown and Madam Brown are unable to join us, the family has asked that remembrances and testimonies be held until a gathering of celebration at a later time. It may be several weeks until such a gathering can be organised. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I will allow leave to any student who wishes to attend.

"Madam Brown's parents – Miss Brown's grandparents – worship at St. Columba under the auspices of the Church of England. As such, I have asked my esteemed colleague and the vicar for St. Columba, the Reverend Doctor Oscar Pomfrey, to offer a blessing. Reverend?"

"We offer blessing for the life of Lavender Isadora Brown," the Reverend began; "She was one of God's children, and we ask intercession for her immortal soul…"

Harry felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach. This was Lavender Brown's immortal soul he was talking about! Lavender – the girl who could be counted on to say something silly in the midst of tension, who doused bangers in some sort of absurdly hot sauce that her mother owled once a month, who painted her toenails red and gold before Quidditch matches, who had turned out to be surprisingly good for Ron. It was Lavender Brown… the girl who was dead because madmen thought nothing of attacking innocents.

"…oui vivis et regans in asecula saeculorum. Amen," the Reverend finished. He drew his hand through the air in the form of a cross and added, "Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine."

Several people present muttered something; some of the mutterings were in Latin, but he heard Hermione whisper, "And let perpetual light shine upon her."

"May you rest in peace, dear girl," the Reverend concluded.

"Thank you, Reverend Doctor Pomfrey," said Dumbledore. He nodded to the Brown family and then turned his attention to the rest of those who were gathered. His hands rested on the edge of the bier. It looked almost as if he were standing before the ornate podium at the head of Hogwarts' Great Hall, ready to share a few inscrutable words after the Welcoming Feast.

Dumbledore began, "Many assembled here have never before participated in a Sending. The Ritual of Sending dates back to the times before Hogwarts, to the days when there was no division between wanded magic and what we now call the 'old magicks'. In fact, this is one of only two rituals of old magic still publicly performed.

"I would ask those who have knowledge of this ritual to assist those who do not. I will first invoke the ritual. I will then call out each circle, one at a time, from outermost to innermost. When your circle is called, I ask that you place your left hand on the right shoulder of the person to your left; and your right hand on the right shoulder of the person in front of you. When all in your circle have done so, I will say an incantation and you will all repeat it after me. You may feel a moment of weakness, especially those of you who are still blessed by youth. This is actually a bit of wandless magic you will be performing today, and so you may feel a moment of weakness at the end of the incantation; this is particularly true for those of you who have not yet reached adulthood. Leave your hands in place, however.

"As the circles will grow smaller, you will reach a point when two or more of you are reaching forward to the same wizard or witch. That is normal, and do not be bothered by it. You may feel a small shock or observe blue flickers in the inner circles; this is perfectly normal and nothing to be going on about. Those in the innermost circle have already received instruction for their part in the ritual." Harry relaxed and let his mind focus on the call and response of the ritual until Dumbledore abruptly jerked him to attention.

Dumbledore continued, "I will be assisted today by my adept, Mr. Harry Potter. Mr. Potter was a housemate of Miss Brown for five years. He is also a most extraordinary young wizard, and will add an unexpected element to the final incantation of the Sending, I am sure. Madam Pomfrey will take your place, Harry… come forward, would you?"

Harry's feet felt as though they were stuck in place. He managed a stiff nod and trudged forward, nearly managing to stumble on the edge of the platform. Once he was beside Dumbledore, he placed his hands on the edge of the bier to match the Headmaster's posture.

Dumbledore said very quietly, "There's a good lad. Now, you will speak the olden incantation and I will follow with the English translation."

"I've never done this! What if I bollix the incantations?" Harry whispered forcefully.

Dumbledore responded, "Nonsense, Harry. If you can drive off a hundred Dementors with a single charm, and can successfully place both Unplottable and Fidelius charms on your first attempts, then you can certainly do this. Old magicks – all magic, really – is less about the words and more about intent. The intent here is quite clear. This was your friend, Harry. You can do this for her. And, if all else fails, read it from the notes." He then slipped a small card into Harry's hand with the incantations on it, phonetically spelled out. Harry couldn't help but give a small grin at that. Dumbledore nodded one at a time to the Reverend, Madam Marchbanks, Madam Pomfrey, and Mr. Ogden. He then raised his hands, and nodded to Harry. Harry held the card in his cupped right hand. Just as the first time he had read the ritual, he thought that the incantations were oddly goblin-like.

"Tama on meidan sisar… ole hyva ja vie hanet jaamaan taivaaseen… anna hanen loytaa rauhan kunnes me liittya hanen myohemmin… anna lohduta niita jotka ovat jaaneet taakse… parantaa haavat luotu kuoleman meidan sisar… karkoitus pimeydessa meilta kaikilta… jata taakse oleellisinta sisar niin etta han edelleen asuu muistomme," he incanted.

Dumbledore followed, "This is our sister before us. Please take her to stay in the next life. Let her find peace until we someday join her there. Give comfort to those who are left here. Heal the wounds created by her death. Banish the darkness from all of us. Leave behind the essence of our sister, so that she will live on in our memories." The four members of the old-old crowd then repeated Harry's incantation as one.

Harry raised his own hands – somehow it felt as though it was the right thing to do – and called out, "Ensimmainen ympyra!"

Dumbledore said, "The first circle – that would be the outermost circle…? Now, Harry is going to say the olden incantation here, and then you're going to repeat after him. If it doesn't want to come off your tongue, then the English equivalent is 'send her on' – that will do in a pinch. Harry, if you would…?"

"Laheta hanen edelleen!" incanted Harry.

He heard mostly the incantation repeated back, with a smattering of English around the edges. He saw… something. It wasn't exactly a flash of light, but the light within the circle seemed somehow changed.

"Toinen ympyra!" he went on.

Dumbledore said, "The second circle… if you would…?"

Harry once again said, "Laheta hanen edelleen!" and awaited the response. This time it was more something heard than something seen… a humming, buzzing thing… in truth, as much felt as heard. He pressed on: first "Kolmas ympyra!" and then "Neljas ympyra!" Each time, there was a little more of _something_, still lingering just outside his senses. It was part feeling, part sound, part sight, and even part smell… like the scent of a lightning strike, he thought. Now they were close to the platform, and he at last saw the bluish flickering that the Headmaster had described.

"Ympyra perheja todistajia!" he called out.

Dumbledore said, "It is time for the circle of family and witnesses. Come forward and place your hands on the acolytes in as equal numbers as you can… five each to Madam Marchbanks and Mr. Ogden, and four each to Madam Pomfrey and Reverend Pomfrey, I should think."

Harry looked up from the card and met Hermione's eyes. There was a sense of wonder there, and something else that he could feel… recognition of some sort? Her hands were alive with bluebell flame and her hair flickered and shifted as if it were a living thing. She placed her hands on Reverend Pomfrey's shoulders but her eyes never left Harry.

"Ympyra pappisluettelo!" Harry called.

Dumbledore intoned, "The circle of acolytes."

Lavender's family and her friends who had borne the bier all returned, "Laheta hanen edelleen!"

Marchbanks, Ogden, and the two Pomfreys appeared to burst into blue flame, at first so intense that it made Harry blink back tears. The four moved slowly to the platform, their steps in unison. Harry found himself ever-so-slightly frightened but he mercilessly shoved the fear down and then forced it out.

This time he was not the one to deliver the incantation. Instead, as the four placed their hands on Harry's shoulders, they called out, "Lahettajan!"

Dumbledore said, "The Sender," and a column of blue flame and light erupted from the platform. Harry felt the hands leave his shoulder more quickly than he had expected. He looked down at his own hands, which nearly shone blue. For an instant he felt as though he could do anything… but he didn't want to do anything. This power, this gathering of magic, whatever it was – the point was for him to send his friend to wherever she was going next.

Dumbledore had never described anything like this to him. He felt almost outside of himself, almost as though his body was acting of its own accord. He knew that he was supposed to place his hands on the bier and call out the final incantation. His arms reached down and he gathered up Lavender, still wrapped in the sheet. Her covered head came to rest against his shoulder. There was a feeling within him that was so powerful, he didn't know what to do with it: cry, scream, laugh…

Instead, he said in a gentle voice that somehow carried over the light and the flames, "Lahettaa."

The blue light spread from his hands and his arms and dappled across the white sheet, and grew more and more intense until Harry had to close his eyes. There was a rushing sound and he forced his eyes open again. There was no sheet to be seen, only a cloud of light in his arms and a sense of something familiar. The light shot free of his arms and skyward along with the column of light, and a wind blew outward from the platform and caused many of the mourners to take a step back.

Harry found himself panting in shock. The only remaining trace of the blue flames or light was on his hands, which were still alive with bluebell flickers. He heard Mr. Ogden say, "My word…" but didn't respond.

His legs moved of their own accord toward the patriarch of the Browns. He clasped the old wizard's hands and somehow remembered to incant, "Mita meidan sisar jatti jalkeensa annetaan teille." He had no idea where the card had gone.

In the background, Dumbledore said, "What our sister left behind is given to you."

The old wizard bowed his head and said, "Han on lahetettava parempi paikka"; it wasn't something Dumbledore had taught him, or ever mentioned at all. Some of the blue flickers spread from Harry's hands to the patriarch. The old man didn't move, but tears ran down his face.

Harry moved on, first to each of the family members and then to his friends who had carried Lavender to the platform, and repeated the same incantation. Each reacted differently, but all the reactions were powerful and raw. The whole thing was beginning to erode Harry's control over his passive legilimency; he was awash in emotions not his own, but he couldn't yet stop and do one of Covelli's exercises.

Hermione was the last. Her hands were sweating – oddly, they felt warmer than the flames. The flickering began to creep onto her hands before he managed to say a word. Her emotions were overwhelming, too potent for him to comprehend. He somehow bit out the incantation.

She looked into his eyes and said, "She is sent to a better place."

"W-what?" he managed.

"She is sent to a better place: that's what Lavender's great-grandfather said to you," she explained.

The flames faded away from both their hands, and Harry stumbled forward. Hermione kept him from falling, and Neville was there in a trice. Ernie Macmillan immediately conjured a chair and helped Neville lower Harry into it.

Neville said in a tentative way, "Harry, I've been to these before. This isn't what happens. It… it's not like this. I mean, the whole blue flickering and the disappearing bit, yeah, but not the… not the lights and the wind and, and the _whoosh_! And _definitely_ not the afterward… I mean, only really close family are supposed to feel that sort of thing. After they're finished… with the rest of us, it's just a lot of handshaking, more or less…"

"Lavender and me… we were close, of course, family gatherings and all that, but… I didn't realise…" Ernie murmured.

Parvati's hands were shuddering. She knelt before Harry's chair, and began, "I don't… I… I don't know what to say… there are no words…" With that, she began to sob uncontrollably and pitched forward into Harry's arms. Not knowing what else to do, he patted her on the back and stroked her hair until Padma made her way to the front. Some words were exchanged – Harry was still so stunned that he barely noticed – and then Parvati left, still sobbing, with her sister and a clearly shaken Mandy Brocklehurst.

Harry looked at his hands for a long time. When he looked up, he found himself facing the senior member of the Brown family. "Can I help you, sir?" he managed to say.

The man's lips quirked and he gave the slightest of snorts. "I think you've done that already, Lord Potter. May I sit?" he asked.

"Of course," Harry said, and he gave a negligent wave of his hand; a slightly worn armchair appeared next to him.

"Good gracious, young man… this has turned out to be a very unexpected day, indeed," the man said.

"Have to agree with you there," Harry murmured, "and please call me Harry… not very comfortable with this 'Lord' business."

"My name is Bertram Blake, and I am the Head of the House of Blake. Lavender was my great-granddaughter," he introduced himself.

"I'm sorry for your loss, sir," said Harry.

The old man bowed his head slightly and said, "Thank you, Harry. You know, one of the great weaknesses of the Ritual of Sending is that the Sender cannot himself partake of the ritual. You were the bearer of my great-granddaughter's essence but not its recipient. Have you ever attended a Sending, or have you only conducted them?"

"This was a first for me all the way around," Harry said.

Mr. Blake's eyebrows quickly ascended. "Do you mean to say that you've not only never attended but have never before _conducted_ a Sending?"

Harry said, "Until the Headmaster called me to the front, I didn't know I was going to do it today, either."

Mr. Blake leant forward in his chair and said, "Perhaps I should explain to you why your friends were reacting so strongly?"

Harry managed a small smile and observed, "It's pretty clear things didn't turn out as expected."

Mr. Blake nodded and explained, "It is customary for those very close to the one who has passed on – spouses, parents, children, the closest of friends – to feel a… modest sense of closeness upon clasping hands with the Sender. I recall being quite taken aback at my wife's sending. It was as though she was near, almost as if there was a hand upon my shoulder. Now, I am rather fond of my two great-granddaughters; our family joins together for the solstices and such. I would like to think that I was close to Lavender, but the truth is that I have seen her no more than a dozen times since she left for Hogwarts. Mr. Potter… Harry… I know how she thought of me… I know how worried she was for her parents, how worried she _still is_ for them… I know that she is worried about her sister attending Hogwarts next year. In eleven decades, I have had no experience by which to compare. It is… it is as though you were a messenger from the grave."

"I don't know what to say," Harry offered.

Mr. Blake took a long, slow breath before he said, "You are still radiating magic, even now. I am somewhat sensitive to that sort of thing, but still… it's remarkable. You have the magical presence of Mr. Ogden over there, of Madam Marchbanks, of something akin to Dumbledore – at sixteen! That is why Dumbledore and his company are running about right now, Obliviating nearly everyone who stood beyond the inner circle. They'll be intercepting your other friends and returning them here, so that we can decide what to do about this."

"Obliviating? But –"

Mr. Blake cut him off, "But nothing, young man. No one else must know what happened here today – it's too dangerous. I imagine you don't care for this 'Chosen One' label; you don't strike me as being that full of yourself. Still, after what I've seen here, it's hard to maintain any doubts. You'll be the one to face Him, and I'm inclined to think that you'll win. He has enough advantages, and we're not going to be the ones to give Him still another. No one must know."

Ron looked to be completely devastated, and given the bit of a deathwish his friend carried, Harry was glad to see that Hermione was looking after him. Harry looked around the circle more intently and realised that Mr. Blake was right. This wasn't the sort of experience a person would be able to keep quiet, and there was no telling what Voldemort would make of it were he to find out.

"There has to be a way for everyone to hold on… you know, to what Lavender had to say… it wouldn't be right to take that away. She gave that to all of you, right?" Harry said.

Mr. Blake gave a genuine smile. He said, "That's a very honourable thing for you to offer. Wizards like Dumbledore or Tiberius Ogden can work some very selective magic. For that matter, I suspect you could manage it with a little training. Why don't we discuss this with Dumbledore? Are you able to stand?"

"Have to do it eventually," Harry sighed.

Hermione dashed over to help him, with Ron in tow. Ron tried to say something but broke down before he could get it out. Harry knew that this whole experience had to be awfully hard on his friend, but he hadn't counted on ending up in a fierce embrace with him.

"This can't be for nothing – it just can't be," Ron managed to bite out.

"It won't be, Ron. Look… we'll talk about it later," Harry said, even though it was likely that Ron, Hermione and probably everyone else save Dumbledore and he would soon remember a very different experience.

* * * * * * * * * *

**MINISTRY OFFICIAL SLAIN**

**Long-time Transport official killed near pub**

Jonathon Runcorn, assistant director of the Department of Magical Transportation and former professional Quidditch player, was killed last evening in Wigtown. The body was found just steps from The Biting Fairy, a popular pub for sportsmen in the area. Mr. Runcorn is believed to have left the pub shortly prior to closing. Some witnesses reported that he left in the company of a woman, but others disputed that claim.

In addition to evidence of one or more curses, an unnamed source from within the DMLE told this reporter that Mr. Runcorn had been stabbed several times with a large blade. "Unlike Ludo Bagman's death, which may have been caused by a Muggle, a wizard was definitely involved here," said the unnamed source.

Mr. Runcorn had overseen the Office for Apparation since 1988. He was part of the team that developed the Ministry's transportation tracking system in the 1970s, which was used to great effect by Aurors during the war against You-Know-Who and which remains a powerful tool for the DMLE to maintain order. A reserve chaser for the Wigtown Wanderers during their title runs in the 1960s, Mr. Runcorn was a lifelong resident of the area. He was a member of the Board of Overseers for St. Mungo's Hospital from 1982 through 1994 as well as the chief organizer for the Hospital's various development schemes throughout the 1980s, most notably the two expansions funded by the now-disgraced Mr. Lucius Malfoy. Mr. Runcorn's ties to Mr. Malfoy in the 1970s came under investigation in 1982, but were ultimately judged to be legitimate.

Mr. Runcorn leaves behind a wife and three children, the youngest of whom is an upper-form student at Hogwarts. In lieu of flowers or other commemorations, the family requests that mourners contribute to the St. Mungo's Fund for Sporting Injuries.

_the __Daily Prophet__, January 3, 1997_

_*** * * * * * * * * ***_

_**January 16, 1997**_

Harry quietly took a seat at the back of the History of Magic classroom. Adrian Pucey stood at the lectern and surveyed the room. The school's prefects and Quidditch captains trickled in. Some tried to sit at the rear but Pucey glared at them until they joined their fellows in the front. The group sat in silence and the Head Boy continued to wait. Shortly, the six seventh-years who had been sixth-year prefects entered as a group.

"Let's come to order. I know this was on short notice, so thank you for attending," Pucey began.

Morag McDougal raised her hand and said, "This is about Cho, isn't it?"

Pucey closed his eyes for a moment before he said, "That's mostly it, yeah. Look... I'm as full of myself as the next bloke -"

"Got that in one," said Rob Cadwallader – the seventh-year Hufflepuff on the duelling team. Pucey managed a small smile, and Harry recognised that Cadwallader had neatly lowered the tension in the room.

"Thanks for agreeing with me so quickly," the Head Boy said; "Here's the thing: Cho... well, she's gone now and I... what I mean to say is that I'm not so thick as to think I can manage this on my own..."

Beatrice Kennewick, Pucey's year-mate in Slytherin, said matter-of-factly, "We need to decide what to do about a Head Girl, then." Pucey said nothing but gave a sharp nod.

Alyce Tilton, the other seventh-year Hufflepuff, broke the long silence that followed. "Honestly, I was relieved not to be appointed," she admitted; "It's enough just keeping up with class work and revising for the NEWTs. I've even quit Gobstones."

Katie Bell, the third of the seventh-year girls, said, "I have a problem with the idea of replacing Cho. We weren't mates or anything like that, but she was named Head Girl for a reason. I won't take her place, and I don't think anyone should. It just seems... I don't know – disrespectful?"

"I can't argue with that," Kennewick said; "As much as I'd like to list that title on my propers, I don't want it because someone died. It's unseemly. Still, that leaves Pucey with twice the work."

"Can we divide it up?" Katie offered.

"I'll take on a third of it, but not half," Kennewick returned.

"You're asking if I'll take on a third of the hours? And the same for patrols?" Tilton asked.

"Scheduling patrols could be sticky," Katie admitted.

Pucey started to pace across the front of the room. "Everyone will have to step up a bit. You don't realise how much of a commitment the Headship is until you're in the job a while," he said.

"I'll take some patrols," Cadwallader offered.

"I'll do the same," said Kenneth Bennet, Cho's Ravenclaw counterpart. He added, "I appreciate everyone honouring Cho this way. It'll mean a lot to our House. I think... I think her family will be pleased."

Several pairs of eyes bored into Cormac McClaggan, Katie's fellow seventh-year Gryffindor. "What?" he finally snapped.

"We'll just appoint seventh-year prefects – easy enough, as we're already trained in," Katie said.

"That is the sensible way to go," Kennewick agreed.

"I put in my two years," McClaggan protested.

"Bloody hell, McClaggan – it's one patrol a week, and the girls are doing the real work. It's time for you to man up," Cadwallader snapped at him.

"Fine. One patrol a week, and that's all," McClaggan fumed.

"We should vote on this," Pucey said.

"Make a motion, then," said Kennewick.

Pucey nodded and declared, "I move that last year's sixth-year prefects be named seventh-year prefects for the remainder of this year, and that the seventh-year girls will divide Cho's office hours. All those in favour, signify by saying 'Aye'." He received a chorus of 'Aye's.

Bennet stood and added, "I move that we affirm Cho Chang as Head Girl for the whole of the '96 and '97 school terms."

Pucey's jaw twitched, although Harry doubted most would have caught it. He cleared his throat and said, "All those in favour...?" There was another chorus of 'Aye's.

"I have a good hand. Why don't I write it up as a proclamation that we can all sign? It's something we can give to Cho's family," McDougal said.

Pucey nodded to her; Harry was painfully aware how much effort the Head Boy was expending to remain composed. "I'll report our decisions to the Headmaster," Pucey announced.

"Bell and Tilton and I will do it," Kennewick countered; "That way the Headmaster will know we're committed to this. It also affirms the proclamation. We should have the Headmaster and Heads of House sign it as well – it would be a nice touch."

"Do it," Pucey said immediately.

Ron, who was seated with the other Quidditch captains, stood up. "Did you say there was more, Pucey?" he asked.

Pucey shook himself as though he was trying to wake up from an unpleasant dream. He said, "Right... right... the Headmaster asked me for any suggestions I might have regarding student security, given everything that's happened. I've already given him my own recommendations. If you have any to offer, get them to me and I'll pass them along. That's it." He headed back to the lectern and shuffled some papers as though the meeting was at an end.

McClaggan asked, "What did you recommend, then?" Pucey stopped moving. Harry saw that his shoulders rose and tightened, and he could feel a rise of anger.

"My recommendations?" Pucey confirmed.

"Yeah, I think we have a right to know what you told the Old Man," McClaggan blustered.

The papers in Pucey's hands crumpled under his grasp. He snarled, "Sure, Cormac, I'll tell you exactly what I had to say -"

Kennewick stood immediately, her hands clasped behind her back. She said, "Pucey... Adrian... it's no secret how close you were to Chang. Everyone feels badly for you and I can scarcely imagine how angry you must be. So, I think everyone here would guess that your recommendations were... _harsh_. I recommend that we take a few weeks to let matters cool and think about what steps could be taken to improve security, as well as how we could put them into place. We should schedule another meeting in February, to assemble a proposal that comes from all of us."

"Let's give it some time," Katie said gently.

Pucey pounded his fist hard against the top of the lectern. "There were people at the First of Term Feast who were smiling when the Headmaster mentioned Hogsmeade – they were smiling! My family's home was burnt to ashes over the break. There's no room for neutrality anymore – we are at _war_," he snarled.

"I understand that, Adrian, but going about this in anger could encourage the worst sort of behaviour, especially between the houses," Tilton said.

Cadwallader turned in his seat and asked, "Do you have any thoughts on this, Potter?" It was clear that most of the prefects hadn't seen Harry, as they turned en masse to face him.

Harry took a few moments to think before he said, "I think Kennewick has the right idea. Pucey, I know how you feel about this. Ron's house was sacked over the summer. At least a dozen students lost parts of their families over the break, and…" He looked to Ron and finished, "Cho isn't the only one who died."

"Something needs to be done about it," Pucey said firmly.

"I agree," Harry returned, "but if we're going hunting, let's do it with clear heads, right?"

Cadwallader stood and said, "Until the next meeting, I'd appreciate it if everyone would keep this quiet." He faced Pucey and added, "The last thing we want is for you to be under siege in your own common room."

"Let them come," Pucey said coldly.

Harry shook his head and said, "Rob's right on this. If we start talking about improving security, the first thought in everyone's heads will be that we're in immediate danger. If I hear any of this being spread around – and especially anything that suggests the Head Boy's feelings on the matter – then I'll figure out who's responsible and pay a visit. You won't enjoy it."

"Aye-aye, sir," McClaggan said.

Katie smacked him hard on the chest and snapped, "Piss off, Cormac."

"All those in favour of Cormac pissing off...?" Kennewick asked.

Pucey shook his head, but a smirk was blossoming on his face. He said, "Thank you all; we're adjourned."

Harry walked down the far aisle toward the front of the classroom. "Ron, Pucey, McDougal, Zabini, Cadwallader: would you stay for a moment, please?" he called out.

As soon as the rest had filed out, Harry spelled shut the doors and windows, checked the room for Extendable Ears and other listening spells and tricks, and forced the paintings out of their frames.

Pucey sat against the edge of the professor's desk and crossed his arms. He said, "That's a lot of trouble for a simple discussion. I've never even seen half of what you just cast. What's this about, then?"

Harry took a seat atop one of the front row desks. "I asked all of you to stay behind because you're not only prefects but members of the Duelling Team. You're smart, you're capable, and you're leaders."

"I don't know if I'd go that far," Zabini said quietly.

"Bollocks – people look to you, they follow your opinions. When they don't follow your opinions, they stay clear of you. You and Goyle and maybe Greengrass look to me like the neutrals in your year, and Goyle's only able to stay neutral because Pucey's standing behind him," Harry returned.

Cadwallader said, "That sounds about right."

"You've kept your eyes open this year, Potter," said Pucey; "Now get to the point."

Harry said, "We've a third thing in common: each of us was on the side of the Aurors in Hogsmeade – and I saw you, Zabini, so don't bother denying it."

Ron nodded. He said, "I saw you too, Zabini... it was a good thing you did."

"Is the world to end shortly? Weasley speaks well of a Slytherin?" Zabini said in an exaggerated posh tone.

Ron's jaw clenched for a moment but then he slowly released his breath and shook his head. "There's not four sides in this, Zabini," he said; "You were on the right side of things, and if you're on the right side of things, then your house doesn't matter for much... 'cept for Quidditch, of course. That's completely different."

Zabini muttered, "If that doesn't confirm we're at war, I suppose nothing else will."

Cadwallader rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "There might not be four sides in this, but I have the feeling there are more than two," he said.

"You're right; there are at least three," McDougal agreed.

"It's not as though you're recruiting for the Ministry, Potter, given how often they've shat on you," Cadwallader continued.

"I'm _no one's_ minion, Potter," warned Zabini.

Harry gawked at him. "Minions? Voldemort has minions, or slaves, or whatever. I want allies who can think for themselves, thank you," he said.

Ron gazed sharply at each of the others in turn. He said, "Between the Duelling Club and patrolling, you four can get closer to Harry than almost anyone else. For me, there's one of your security issues, Pucey. Now, I'm with Harry; I figure everyone knows that. For the rest of you, you're either with him or against him, and you'll need to make up your minds right quick."

"I wouldn't go that far just yet," Harry objected.

"Nor would I," Zabini said.

"What's it mean to be 'with Harry'? It means being against You-Know-Who – that's given – but what else? No offense, but most of us don't leap off cliffs without at least a peek at the bottom," said Cadwallader.

"And none of us jump off a bloody motorbike in mid-air," Pucey added; "I'd say old Gryffindor himself thought you were off your nut that day, Weasley."

Ron snorted at that. "Point," he acknowledged.

Harry said, "I'd be happy for now just knowing that none of you are planning to run me through at the next Duelling Club."

"Holding the wrong end of a sword seems to be catching of late," noted Zabini; "Ludo Bagman, that Runcorn fellow, and I've heard there was another."

Pucey said to Harry, "My father told you that our family would be on your side of things. He said it had the strength of an oath, and I've no interest in finding out what would happen to an oathbreaker. So even if I didn't already see things your way, you've nothing to fear from me."

"You're going against the Dark Lord, then?" Zabini asked him.

"I'm certainly not going _for_ him," Pucey shot back; "Who benefits from having him in charge? You? Me? Hogwarts? Britain? The only reason to support him is to keep from being killed, and what's the survival outlook for a Death Eater? You'd have to be mad to join him of your own free will."

"A fair number among Slytherin House would disagree with you..." Zabini pointed out.

McDougal cut in, "...and they would be wrong. Malfoy's dad? On the run and being hunted. The husband and wife... Lestrange – what about them? On the run and being hunted. The ones who went after Granger? Half a dozen dead. The ones at Hogsmeade? Dead or in jail. So why would any thinking person join them?"

"The Dark Lord _died_ and he's back again. Thinking people join him because they don't believe he can be defeated," said Zabini.

Harry's voice cut through the room like the sharpest blade: "He came after me and I _didn't_ die. No one is unbeatable."

Zabini pursed his lips and then said, "That's what I've been waiting to hear you say."

Pucey asked Cadwallader, "Where do you stand in all of this?"

"I'm barely a half-blood _and_ I'm a Hufflepuff," Cadwallader said; "If the world's ever in You-Know-Who's hands, I'm probably better off dead."

McDougal turned to Harry and asked bluntly, "What are your goals in all of this?"

Harry looked at her like she'd just grown a second head. "To get rid of Voldemort, of course," he said. Inwardly he was pleased that only Zabini gave a serious flinch at the infamous name.

She rolled her eyes and said, "That's not hard to figure, Potter. What are your goals for later? So You-Know-Who is gone – now what?"

Harry stammered, "Er... uh... goals, is it? Um... the thing of it is..."

"_Gryffindors_..." Zabini sighed.

"Oi! Getting rid of Voldemort isn't a small goal," Harry said defensively.

"It's a fair question, Harry," Ron admitted; "Think about what the Doctor's been telling us in History: Voldemort, Grindelwald, Tramposo, Racine, and on and on. Maybe the Headmaster and the Marquis and the rest never stopped to think about the afterward? How do you keep it from happening again, right?"

"Unexpectedly clever of you, Weasley," Pucey said.

Ron shrugged. "The rest of this planning business is up to someone else," he said.

"Except for Quidditch," said Harry.

Pucey said, "That's something else entirely."

"The best plans do avoid upsetting Quidditch," Zabini agreed.

"_Boys_," McDougal sighed.

* * * * * * * * * *

**TIBERIUS OGDEN, 1828 – 1997**

_Dies in fall at home_

_Former Wizengamot Chief Warlock_

_Contributed to the defeat of two Dark Lords_

_DMLE does not suspect foul play_

Mr. Tiberius Odgen died yesterday at his Cornwall home, in what Ministry officials described as a freak accident. According to Miss Michelle Wood, an Auror speaking on behalf of the DMLE: "Mr. Ogden appears to have lost his balance at the top of the stairs leading from the second floor to the first floor of his home. The stairs turn at a 90-degree angle for the final three steps, and thus the fall resulted in Mr. Ogden striking the back of his head against a wall and bending his neck to an extreme angle." When pressed, Miss Wood indicated that Mr. Ogden had not consumed any spirits prior to the fall.

Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour said at the scene that there is no suspicion of foul play. "It wasn't entirely out of character when compared to other slips and falls that I've seen. [Mr. Ogden] didn't make any clear attempt to prevent the fall, but he may have struck his head before reaching the bottom. It was late in the evening, the wall sconces weren't lit, and the gentleman was very old as well as being on the stout side. On the whole, it appears to be an unfortunate accident. Elder Ogden was a good man and firmly on the side of law and order. His friends and family have the Department's deepest sympathies," Mr. Scrimgeour said.

When contacted for comment, Office of the Minister's spokeswizard Percy Weasley lauded Mr. Ogden's long service to the Ministry. Mr. Weasley went on to say: "[Mr. Ogden] went well above and beyond the call in providing me with assistance on several occasions. In the last few hours, hundreds of current and former Ministry employees have offered similar stories. Mr. Ogden will be greatly missed by those wizards whose lives he touched, and the British wizarding community is diminished by his loss." Minister Fudge was on an official mission to Egypt and could not be reached for further comment.

Mr. Ogden, 168, served for nearly ninety years on the Wizengamot, to include three terms as Chief Warlock in the 1920s and 1930s. He resigned his seat upon the appointment by Minister Fudge of Madam Delores Umbridge to the position of High Inquisitor at Hogwarts School in 1995. Madam Umbridge left the school under a cloud of accusations last year, but Mr. Ogden did not seek reappointment.

In addition to his long service on the court, Mr. Ogden was a member of the Auror corps from 1853 to 1882; an examination author and reviewer at the Wizarding Examinations Authority for many years; a skilled duellist who won the Mixed World Championship in 1908; and a member of the Hogwarts School faculty from 1910 through 1924. He is known to have assisted Prof. Albus Dumbledore in efforts against the Dark Lords Grindelwald and Tramposo. Recently, he was serving as a consultant to Prof. Dumbledore, reputedly on matters relating to spell research.

Mr. Ogden's wife, Madam Elena Ogden nee Irkutsk, passed on in 1937. The Ogden's remaining two children and most of their numerous grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren reside in America.

– the _Daily Prophet_, February 9, 1997

* * * * * * * * * *

_**February 10, 1997**_

Harry knocked on the outer door to the Marquis' south tower suite at ten in the morning, precisely as asked; the Marquis had been quite specific, which was unusual enough for Harry to take notice. He continued to knock periodically for several minutes and was ready to summon a house-elf for assistance, when the lock clicked and the door slid open.

Mme. de Flandres ushered him in. She was dressed in a casual robe and Muggle clothing; her face was drawn and her eyes were tired. "The Marquis wishes for you to be seated in the chair immediately adjacent to his study," she said mechanically.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

She said, "It was a long night."

Harry followed her into the sitting room and stopped beside the entrance to the Marquis' study. "Is there anything I should know about this chair?" he asked."It's an excellent place for listening without being seen," she said, and then promptly retired to her own chambers.

Shortly thereafter, Croaker let himself into the tower, strode past Harry without so much as a glance and gave a sharp knock on the study door. The door smoothly opened of its own accord.

"Egad, Alex... you're well on your way to getting pissed, aren't you?" Croaker said.

"Il y a une excellente raison pour laquelle je bois, mon ami," the Marquis said with a slight slur.

"It's hard to argue with that," Croaker agreed; "What are you drinking – Ogden's?"

"Feh! I would not allow that to touch my lips if it were the only liquid at the centre of the Sahara," the Marquis spat.

"Well, whatever it is, I'll gladly partake," said Croaker.

The Marquis said, "When in Scotland, I say that a man should do as the Scottish have done for centuries. This is Macallan, my friend – a 1926, matured in Spanish oak for sixty years. The palate, it is dark and complicated... fitting for the times, yes?"

"I say! Yes, I'll most gladly partake, indeed," Croaker said; "Shall we wait for Albus?"

"Absolutely not," said the Marquis, and Croaker let forth a deep chuckle. The two men went quiet for several minutes – presumably to sip at their Scotch – before Dumbledore strode purposefully into the Marquis' suite.

He, too, walked directly past Harry without a glance or a slowed pace. "Drinking without me, gentlemen? I do hope you haven't been toasting already?" the Headmaster said.

"We were… ehh… _sampling_, Albus. A glass awaits you," said the Marquis.

There was a pause followed by a satisfied sigh and an "Oh, my..." from Dumbledore.

"Quite," Croaker added.

The door to the study closed itself tightly and Harry wondered how he was supposed to bide his time – or for that matter, why the Marquis had asked him to come when he was presumably unwelcome.

"Gentlemen, let us toast to the memory of our friend and colleague," Dumbledore said. Harry nearly fell from his chair; it sounded as if the Headmaster was seated immediately to his left.

"You're up first, Alex – you're not only the oldest but you've a better way with words," said Croaker.

"I'm an able speaker, thank you kindly!" Dumbledore cut in.

"Alex has that lord-of-the-manor quality that you lack," Croaker returned.

The Marquis said grandly, "Thank you, Monsieur Croaker; I have always held you in the highest esteem. You are a man amongst men, a true lion –"

"I am assuredly _not _a lion," Croaker sniffed.

"Then you are, ehh, a snake in the grass?" the Marquis said teasingly.

"Perhaps Albus should give the first toast, after all?" said Croaker.

"There is not the slightest doubt in my mind, my old friend Algernon, that you need more of this magnificent Scotch," the Marquis interjected

"The floor is yours, Alex," Croaker said quickly, and all three men laughed lightly.

The Marquis then said, "To Tiberius, who lived up to the glory of his name in the eyes of those privileged to know him... scholar, judge, husband, father, warrior, colleague and – above all – honoured friend. Je vous salue!"

"Well said," Dumbledore declared.

"But of course," returned the Marquis; Harry could almost hear his Gallic shrug.

In the midst of a series of toasts, Harry heard the strangest sound. It was almost impossible to describe: a beeping, sizzling, echoing, droning thing that made him work his jaw from side to side. If it had gone on for another half-second, he doubted that he could have stayed quiet.

"Bloody sodding _hell_," Croaked ground out; "I _hate_ it when you do that!"

"Good evening, Marcus," said Dumbledore. "I take it that Marcus' arrival was anticipated, Alex?"

The Marquis said, "Oui, our friend Marcus was able to share the why, but found that he could not share the reason."

"Why can't you ever give us anything useful?" snapped Croaker.

"Now, Algie, that's both unfair and inaccurate" Dumbledore countered; "You know well that Marcus has saved at least three lives that would not otherwise have been saved –"

"– And that shouldn't even be possible. What I wouldn't give to drag you and Potter back to the Department for a week, Detheridge," Croaker groused.

"Don't worry, Croaker, you won't," Detheridge said.

"You don't know that for certain, boy. Things have already changed," Croaker fired back.

"I know you won't do it, because you wouldn't survive the attempt, and I'm fairly certain you won't die at my hand," Detheridge said with an almost-smug tone.

Croaker started, "You shouldn't even be allowed here. Albus should have –"

"_Enough_," Dumbledore said irritably; "I've made my decisions. If you can't abide by that, Algie, then you can find the front door without my aid!"

"Please, my friends – please! If you needed further proofs, you need only listen to the words coming forth from your mouths!" the Marquis said forcefully; he continued, "Marcus, I will ask if you have seen the information from the, ehh, law enforcement?"

"I've seen the completed report. Scrimgeour's off the mark," said Detheridge.

"Some more of your special information?" Croaker sniffed.

"No, just a dose of Yankee common sense. You might try some, Croaker – it'd do you some good," Detheridge returned.

Dumbledore growled, "I said '_enough_'! Now, Marcus, all of us are on edge. Continue your report without the provocations."

Detheridge began, "The DMLE's going to sign off on it as an accident. The physical evidence tells another story, though. It's thirteen steps from the top of Ogden's stairs to the first landing, and then three more steps off to the right that lead to the hallway below. First of all, he was turned almost 180 degrees from the stairwell when he fell –"

"Where's your proof of that?" Croaker interrupted.

Detheridge said, "The location of the head injury is your proof. For him to be facing forward and end up with that injury, he would have had to cartwheel. If he'd done that – which isn't likely for a man Ogden's size – then he would have broken his neck by either compression from the top or rapid movement forward. Instead, his neck was broken by rotation. Look, Croaker, you don't have to like me, but I was a Marshall for thirty-two years, and half of that in a city a lot larger than London and with three times as many wizards as all of England. I've seen my share of both accidents and covered-up homicides."

Croaker said with a sigh, "I'll concede to your experience. I take it you think this was the latter then: that someone killed Tiberius and tried to conceal the fact?"

"I think it's a possibility, the most likely one given the evidence," said Detheridge. "All right, so Ogden somehow fell down thirteen stairs with only an impact injury at the back of his head, supposedly from the collision with the wall; and a broken neck, also supposedly from the collision. He was about five-feet-nine and, what, two-seventy? A man that size doesn't fall through the air to the bottom of an enclosed stairwell; he bounces. There should have been signs of impact elsewhere on him. I would have expected bruises on the upper back if he fell backward, or maybe on the elbows; they could even be broken by it. If he went forward and didn't make any defensive moves, then he should have struck his shoulders or face, or both. The steps were splintered in places, so he should have impacted against some of those. The splintered areas were intact and he had no cuts or scratches."

The Marquis asked, "There was no magic used against him, yes?"

"Were there any footprints? Hand or finger prints of any sort?" Dumbledore asked immediately after.

"None of the above," said Detheridge, "and it gets better. As far as I could tell, the impact in the wall at the bottom didn't match with Ogden's head injury. It was too deep and too narrow. But the most interesting thing that I saw at the scene –"

"At the scene? How did you manage that?" asked Croaker.

Detheridge said, "It's all in the timing. Now then, I found a bit of sawdust on one of the steps. A quick Reparo, and it was obvious that someone had used sandpaper to remove a boot scuff."

"Sandpaper?" Croaker asked.

"It's a roughened paper that non-magicals use to rub away blemishes in wood or plaster. If a person needed to do that without leaving evidence of magic, sandpaper would be the obvious choice," explained Detheridge. "There were also two different types of plaster flakes at the bottom of the stairs."

"So, Marcus, you have the theory of the crime. Enlighten us, my friend," the Marquis said.

"All right... Ogden was at the top of the stairs when he was surprised from behind. The perp twisted his head hard enough to break his neck, then grabbed him – probably by the underarms – and threw him down the stairs. Ogden's head struck the wall, but not hard enough to throw off an investigator. So, the perp –"

"Ehh, 'perp'? What is 'perp'?" asked the Marquis.

"Sorry... perp means 'perpetrator'," Detheridge explained.

"Ahh, yes. Do go on, my friend. I find myself both repelled and fascinated," the Marquis said.

"Right, so the perp gave the wall a second blow – probably with a gloved fist or elbow, to keep from leaving plaster footprints. It was a deep blow, enough to break loose both the surface plaster and a small area of older plaster beneath. If Ogden's head had struck that hard, his skull would have fractured. After that, the perp did a bit of tidying up, probably with a non-magical kit that he carried with him, and then walked out the front or back door. Your DMLE doesn't check things like liver temperature but the report said rigor had set in, so this probably happened sometime between 10 PM and 2 AM," said Detheridge.

"Tiberius left the castle a few minutes after eleven," Dumbledore said.

"He was dressed for bed, so that probably puts it between midnight and 2 AM, then," Detheridge concluded.

"So your murderer threw a man the size of Tiberius hard enough to sail down a full flight of stairs without touching the stairs themselves?" Croaker asked.

"He probably bounced against the bottom stair or two. The DMLE didn't examine his lower back or buttocks for bruising, and the outer parts of the dent in the wall were too high for his head to strike there without his body bouncing upward a few inches," said Detheridge.

"There is another thing to consider, Algie," Dumbledore said; "Mr. Detheridge's perpetrator could have cast magic upon his own person without later detection. This could easily be the source for the strength necessary to carry out the deed."

"Damnation, you're right," Croaker sighed.

"Marcus, my friend, I give due credit to your powers of, ehh, deduction. The next question of importance is, of course, the who of it," the Marquis said.

"Tiberius's enemies are all long dead," said Croaker. "He was fairly quiet in the Wizengamot for the last few years, and certainly not at the heart of any controversy."

"Albus, I know it is in your mind as we speak. We are having the same thoughts, yes? The Curse, she is upon us. We do not know who the thirteenth was, but we have all thought the same on the matter," said the Marquis.

"The Curse? You're daft, Alex. We've had several of us together a number of times over the years, and nothing happened. There is no curse – it's superstition, no better than voodoo," Croaker insisted.

"Voudou is quite real; I have personally observed its practice," Dumbledore countered, "and if Alex is correct, then I think we three all know who is responsible for Tiberius's demise."

"He's not been heard from in twenty-five years; you can't even say if he's still alive," Croaker said.

"We know of his career – if such debasement can be considered a career. It is far more likely that he broke his wizarding ties than that he was killed or otherwise passed on. Young Mr. Karensky was a very dangerous and unpredictable man, and our ally only out of convenience and family obligation. If he is here and has designs on us, then we are in great danger," Dumbledore said.

"He is the most likely actor for the Curse," said the Marquis.

Croaker said carefully, "If you're right – and I still believe you're wrong about this – then it's too late to undo things, isn't it?"

"For those of us who have spent considerable time at Hogwarts, yes, I should think so," Dumbledore said.

The Marquis cleared his throat and then said, "The signs, they are there for the seeing, my friends. There are changes in us, and these changes are not only from the alchemical gift that we have all been sampling – "

"Alchemical gift?" asked Detheridge.

Croaker said, "That explains how you've become so active, Alex. How long?"

"When the word came in _Le Monde Magique_ that your Voldemort, he had returned... that was the sign. This is the final crusade for me, and a worthy one it is," the Marquis declared.

"How much effect has there been?" asked Croaker.

"The mind, it is much sharper... the body, it is as though Grindelwald's time has returned, and still gaining the strength," said the Marquis.

Croaker gasped, "Good God, Alex – how much have you been taking?"

"There is enough of the draft to see me through the last days of the millenium, my old friend. This old body, he will not last long once the draft is no more," the Marquis said; "And what of you, Algie? How much has it been?"

"Er... I've been taking it in small amounts since 1973, enough to arrest any further changes. My best estimate is that I can stretch my supply to the middle of the next century. I'll come up with something else by then," Croaker said.

"I can't imagine why you'd care to go on for so long," Dumbledore sighed; "All great adventures do come to an end, Algie."

"You and Alex choose to be comforted by stuff and nonsense. I see no reason to hasten the journey into oblivion," Croaker snapped.

"What of you, Albus? How have you chosen to use the gift?" the Marquis asked.

"I have not yet turned to it," said Dumbledore.

"Pull another one, Albus. You're as magically fit as you were fifty years ago, and there's only one way to manage that," Croaker scoffed.

"You demand the magic to do your work. I ask it to aid me in mine. I told you long ago that your approach exacts a price," returned Dumbledore.

"More stuff and nonsense – magic isn't some incarnate spirit that inhabits us or an energy field out there in the ether waiting to be tapped; we're apportioned it by dint of birth. Using magic is no different than using one's mental faculties," Croaker retorted; it was obvious from the tone that this was a very old argument between the two men.

"Nonetheless, I have left the gift sequestered. I will not resort to using it until absolutely necessary," said Dumbledore.

"Albus is the same age now as I attained shortly after the beginning of this century. His condition today, it is what I remember of those days for myself. I also think that the dismissing of the notion that magic is all around us, it is, ehhh, cavalier. Albus is in the right on this," the Marquis said.

"_Humbug_," Croaker grumbled. Harry had to jam his fist into his mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

"Alex, please remind me why I wanted Algie here in the first place?" Dumbledore said sharply.

The Marquis gave an answer to the rhetorical question: "Ehh... the contrary views, they are something that you like to hear in the one ear even as you hear the supporting views in the other ear. Is it not so?"

"So Croaker's basically on the payroll to be a pain in the ass," Detheridge concluded.

Croaker growled, "How very droll. I suppose your role is to be the magical freak in residence?"

"Well, fuck you and the horse you rode in on," Detheridge said matter-of-factly.

Harry heard the sound of a chair roughly pushed back, and then Dumbledore snarled, "ENOUGH! I won't have that in my organisation. Dissension is a luxury we can ill afford! If the two of you can not be civil of your own accord, then consider this an _order_."

"Yet another sign of the curse is revealed, my friends," said the Marquis; "If I closed these old and tired eyes, I would insist that it was 1942 and we were sipping a fine cabernet on my veranda. You are no longer the, ehh, jovial headmaster, Albus. You, my old friend Algie, have also recovered the sharp edge. Lucia, she now aids the young Mlle. Granger with explorations of the arcane rather than impeding her..."

"Griselda hasn't changed - she's been the same battleaxe for as long as I've know her," said Croaker; "What of Flitwick?"

Dumbledore said, "He has once again immersed himself in the art of the duel. I have not seen such intensity from him in a very long time."

"So, I must ask you, Algie...?" the Marquis ventured.

"I don't want to believe in the Curse. It violates every understanding of magic we've developed," Croaker fumed.

"I will remind you that the ritual we used against Grindelwald was an ancient one. The Curse merely violates our understanding of magic as it has been practiced in modern times," said Dumbledore.

"Magic is magic," Croaker protested.

"Excepting when it is not, my friend," said the Marquis.

There was a long pause before Croaker said, "Speaking of archaic rituals... I suppose the old goat asked for a Sending?"

"Algie, you should at least be respectful of a man's wishes," Dumbledore sighed.

"It serves the same purpose as cremation. As long as his remains can't be plundered, I wouldn't care if Tiberius asked to be sunk to the bottom of the sea with a millstone 'round his neck. Just don't ask me to participate in the farce," Croaker said.

"Far be it from me to suggest that anything exists beyond the tiny particles that make up the world around us," Dumbledore returned.

"Protons, electrons, neutrons – you're right in one, Albus. Actually, the Muggles think they've happened on something even smaller... fascinating work, actually," said Croaker.

"A first generation witch I knew back in Boston tried to explain this business to me: quantum mechanics and chaos theory and all of it," Detheridge said; "She told me that the study of physics has reached the point where it's hard to tell the difference between science and belief. Imagine that."

"Humbug," Croaker said once again.

"I will notify all of you regarding Tiberius's arrangements. He opted for the traditional six-day interval, so I recommend that you clear your schedules. I will suspend the later class meetings to allow staff and upper-form students to pay their respects," Dumbledore said.

"Can we get to the other reason for this little gathering?" Detheridge asked.

"But of course," the Marquis said; "Albus, do I gather correctly that you agree with the conclusions of Mlle. Granger's work?"

"Her work is sound," Dumbledore said.

"Her work rests on an untestable assumption," Croaker countered.

"Untestable by you, perhaps, but not by me," Dumbledore told him.

Croaker was clearly affronted. "There is no work of magic you can evaluate where I can not do the same," he said.

"You lack the sensibilities to evaluate the old magicks -" said Dumbledore.

"- and there is no consistent means to test your so-called 'old magicks', hence the problem with Granger's paper. If I was applying a grade, I'd be hard pressed to justify an Acceptable," Croaker said.

"An 'Acceptable', you say? I have reviewed this work for myself. Algie, my old friend, there is no kind way that I can tell you this: your words just now, they were rubbish," the Marquis declared.

Dumbledore told Croaker, "Her theory is ground-breaking and you are well aware of this. I find myself increasingly reconsidering Harry's opinions regarding your views on blood status."

"If I didn't know that my opinion of that ridiculous paper was correct, I would be _very_ offended just now. Knowing that I am indeed correct, however, takes the sting out of it," Croaker sniffed.

"Hmm… seems to me that when it takes more work to explain the exceptions to a rule than to explain the rule, then you might need to take another look at the rule," Detheridge said.

"You're nothing more than a constable with a spot of deductive ability and a dab hand with a wand. Confine yourself to matters where your opinion has value," Croaker fired back.

Detheridge laughed and then said, "Croaker, you remind me of this cadet I knew back in the day: smart as hell – the guy'd forgotten more books than I've ever read – and he was absolutely sure of himself. I set up a live fire training exercise, and he spent five minutes explaining to me how the enemy couldn't have put up an anti-apparation ward because of the terrain and the relative position of the buildings and fifty other things that I didn't listen to and can't recall. He was so damn sure that I said, 'Fine, you run the engagement for your platoon.' Smart guy, but inflexible and predictable... they had their asses handed to them, of course. So, this cadet, he orders a full retreat and proceeds to apparate. At least the rest of them had the good sense not to follow him. I think it took a day and a half to completely un-splinch the idiot. All the books in the world didn't tell him the obvious thing: the enemy had the superior position and therefore had no reason to engage unless they were in complete control of the situation. Of course there was a ward in place! Not a lick of common sense... washed him out of the program the next day. You really remind me of that guy."

The Marquis applauded vigorously and said, "Oh, this is so much fun! It is like watching tennis, yes?" There was a pregnant pause before both Dumbledore and Croaker started laughing.

"You know, I wouldn't be so prickly if someone would just pour me a damn drink," Detheridge said.

"But where are my manners? For you, my young friend, we will break out the second bottle," the Marquis said amiably.

Croaker snapped, "Second bottle? You never said anything about a second bottle. Holding out on us, are you?"

"For you, my old friend Algernon, nothing but the second best," said the Marquis.

"You're a knave, old man," Croaker shot back.

"_Yeow!_ A knave with the best Scotch I've ever tasted, that's for sure," Detheridge coughed.

There was another long pause – Harry assumed that the four men were quietly enjoying their drinks – before Dumbledore said, "I have asked Miss Granger to confirm two of her findings. This is why Dr. Covelli is assisting her –"

"Still won't let you call her 'Lucia', will she? You really did bugger things," Croaker cut in.

Dumbledore went on, "Yes… well… that is between the Doctor and myself. In any event, the two are following my suggestions regarding a proof. Once I have received confirmation, I intend to share the findings with Harry unless there are relevant objections."

"Therefore, logic suggests that I am irrelevant," said Croaker.

"In this one instance, Algie, yes. Your views on the matter are irrelevant," Dumbledore said flatly.

"That calls for more Scotch," Detheridge said.

"You are rather, ehh… _harsh_, Albus," the Marquis chided.

Dumbledore said, "The times call for decisive actions."

Croaker asked, "What do you expect to gain, Albus? Is your theory going to get the boy up to speed faster? Will it improve his casting? Will it sharpen him in duels? Will it make him more studious? Honestly, I think you're likely to cripple him with it… and if I'm honest with myself, I must admit that is part of the reason I have been so discouraging with Granger. I don't see how this is going to help him."

"The young Potter, he must begin the quest. Understanding the beginning, it will help him understand the ending," said the Marquis.

Croaker sighed. "You truly think that the prophecy is alchemical?" he asked.

" 'One must die at the hand of the other', she says. You and Albus know well from your time with Nicholas that death means many things. Ponder on this, Algie," the Marquis returned.

"Well, I don't like it. It leaves an uncertain outcome, for one. We could go through all of this, gentlemen – the situation could become as unpleasant as our worst fears – and it could all end badly because your boy missteps, Albus. Your habit of hiding things from him could make things better or it could make things far worse," Croaker fumed.

"Yet you wish to hide from him the true nature of his survival," Dumbledore countered.

"Touche! The tennis match has returned! This is so enjoyable… to tennis! Je vous salue!" the Marquis bellowed.

"I think you're actually pissed, Alex! The last time I remember seeing you pissed was at that brothel in Venice," Croaker laughed.

"It was not a brothel… there was nothing ill about its repute, I will have you know… and Madame Ribisi, she was, ehh, a spectacle to behold!" the Marquis declared.

"Following the two of you around Europe was like minding two schoolboys," Dumbledore sighed.

"It's not our fault you weren't interested in putting your fame to good use," Croaker protested.

"The both of you were too old to be gadding about like that, for pity's sake. _I _was too old for it, and you're both old crones in comparison. In any case, my interests of that sort began and ended with Martha, and you're well aware of that," said Dumbledore.

"She wouldn't have expected you to wear widow's weeds for one hundred and ten years, Albus," Croaker said gently.

"It wasn't her choice to make, nor was it yours… old libertines, the both of you! Good heavens, Alex, that woman was one-third your age!" Dumbledore scolded.

"Lighten up, Brian –" Croaker started.

The Marquis laughed, "_Brian_, he says! And now who is the one who is pissed, or… ehh… what is it about shite and wind?"

"Shite and wind? It's '_sheets_', Alex: three sheets to the wind! You kill me, you really do," Detheridge howled.

"A toast!" Croaker said sharply.

"I do like the toast, you know… was an acquired taste… it does require the, ehh, marmalade," the Marquis mumbled.

"Not that, you old goat – a _toast!_ To Brian, whose bloody sense of honour allowed me the pleasure of more beds than I can count just now. _To Brian!_" Croaker cackled.

"Aren't we full of ourselves, Algie? I should think the fingers of your two hands would more than suffice to count your adventures. The rest, my friend, is the product of your fevered imagination and this delightful Scotch, of which I shall now have some more," Dumbledore said.

"Well… to hell with you, then! You were too busy with your books to keep track, anyway… and we didn't need a bloody nanny. Remember that _I_ was the one that got Alex out of his chateau, and all it took was a good bit of rough," Croaker slurred.

"There was nothing rough about Madam Ribisi… although the Madam's husband, he was a bit rough… but not for long," the Marquis managed.

"Only because you dove out the window. It's a good thing the _nanny_ was there to cast a cushioning charm," laughed Dumbledore.

Detheridge said, "This is going downhill fast. Obviously I need to drink more."

"Cheers, Marcus," Dumbledore said, and glasses clinked together.

Just then, Mlle. de Flandres bumped Harry's arm. "The Marquis, he provided a message for me to pass along when I received his sign. The conversation must be… taking a turn?"

Harry took the parchment she handed to him and unfolded it. He nearly dropped it when the Marquis' voice projected from it:

_Monsieur Potter, as the Scotch in the bottle decreases and the Scotch in our bellies increases, I fear that the talk may become uncomfortably ribald for your young ears. Surely you have heard whatever it was that Monsieur Detheridge wished you to hear, for if you have not, I am certain that we shall shortly be too, ehh, shite to the wind to say anything of consequence. Find Monsieur Detheridge and confirm this with him. If he is unable to speak of it with you, as may be the case, then you will come to me and I will do the telling as best I can. Au revoir, my young friend!_

"Taking a turn… you could say that," Harry said under his breath.

As he walked back to his chambers and thought on what Detheridge had wanted him to hear… and how Detheridge had gotten into the room at all… and what Hermione might have discovered… and what sort of quest he was supposed to begin… and images of Croaker in younger days that he desperately wanted to eject from his brain, he did decide that it was nice to know that the Headmaster and the Marquis and even Croaker were still human.


	3. The Ides of March 1997

**HARRY POTTER AND THE YEARS OF REBELLION**

**The Ides of March, 1997**

Note -

Just so its clear I'm not writing this for Mike. All I'm doing is taking his drafts and notes and putting them together in time order. I fixed a couple of things but its all his stuff. He goes through every chapter before its goes up so he can tell me I'm wrong, LOL.

Thx, AMP

**

* * *

****WHY THIS, AND WHY NOW?**

With the MacLeish purchase of the _Daily Prophet _last year, wizarding Britain lost its voice. For the last several years, Britain's _Wizarding Wireless Network_ has been a front for the Minister and his administration. Mr. Odd Lovegood's _Quibbler_ cannot be taken seriously as a publication despite the occasional newsworthy article.

Mr. Keith MacLeish asserts that his _Daily Prophet_ remains a wizarding newspaper, yet it now resembles the newspapers that one of his many businesses sells to London's Muggles. In addition to MacLeish's foreign sensibilities, there is another influence to consider.

Mr. Harry Potter is now a silent partner in the _Daily Prophet_. Few people recall that Mr. Potter's great-grandfather invented the wizarding wireless, and that the Potter family at one time owned and operated the _WWN_. Today, although Keith MacLeish does not control Britain's wireless network, his holdings do include the networks in more than twenty countries around the world. There are credible reports that MacLeish has sought the _WWN_ but has thus far been rebuffed. The Potter family holdings are amongst the largest in Britain and are able to easily finance such efforts. Has the Potter family been an invisible hand upon the news for decades? Is it possible that Harry Potter now controls, whether directly or indirectly, all of the news that Britain's wizards read and hear?

At a time of great consequence for our world – facing the threat of war from both within and without, a faltering economy, a seemingly corrupt and incompetent government, and the slow but constant disintegration of our very way of life – we could no longer sit silent and beg for an occasional morsel of thought from the _Prophet _or the _WWN_.

Unlike the rest of today's press in Britain, we do not rely on the generosity of advertisers and questionable partners. This journal represents the opinions of The Gazump Family Trust, which has supported wizarding causes for eleven generations.

We are not a tool of the Ministry.

We will not bury our views amidst fanciful tales and absurd rumours.

Rest assured that we will speak the truth, and you will read it here first.

Signed,

Reginald Gazump, publisher

Barnabas Cuffe, director for publications

Tobias Elsinore, editor

_The Watcher__, inaugural edition, March 3, 1997_

* * *

_**March 8, 1997**_

One good thing came of Harry's ongoing arrangement at the Three Broomsticks, at least: he had a private meeting place always available to him, thanks to having leased the garret for the entire year in advance. Luckily for him, the inn was one of the few buildings in Hogsmeade that had remained largely undamaged.

As was his custom on Saturday mornings, he spent at least two hours helping Hogsmeade residents rebuild. On this particular weekend – a Hogsmeade weekend for the students – he was able to cajole a dozen of his friends to join him. Some of the properties seemed to be cursed in the same way as the Burrow – the building materials just wouldn't hold together by magic. However, as one of Keith MacLeish's squib builders had pointed out to him, none of that stopped a nail. By mid-February, they had found that homes rebuilt manually on the cursed sites were safe, and magical items within the homes functioned in the expected way. So, Harry had hired builders through MacLeish and set them to work. After nine weeks, all but seven families were returned to their homes.

Detheridge joined Harry on occasion. The two had discussed the overheard conversation on the night after Tiberius Ogden's death several times. For some reason, the Defence professor was unable to tell Harry his intentions directly, but Harry eventually sussed it out: the purposes were for Harry to know that Hermione had forged some sort of breakthrough, and that at least the Marquis and Dumbledore believed that there was something alchemical about the prophecy regarding he and Voldemort. Detheridge promised that he would be able to share more in the future; in fact, he specified 'the afternoon of April 6, unless it's rainy the previous day', without further explanation.

On this particular Saturday, Harry had arranged to meet with Madam Bones and Ted Tonks regarding financial concerned. Madam Rosmerta had already admitted them to the garret by the time Harry arrived. Mr. Tonks had arrayed several stacks of parchments at the small dining table and Madam Bones was picking through her valise as he entered.

"Ah, good morning, Harry. Rosmerta left some hot cocoa at the counter. It's positively bitter out there," Mr. Tonks said.

"Even with a warming charm, you look chilled completely through, Mr. Potter. Are you still spending time with the reconstruction?" Madam Bones asked.

Harry shrugged and said, "It seemed like everyone else started quitting on them. That doesn't mean the work is finished."

"Very admirable," said Mr. Tonks.

Madam Bones said, "Admirable, yes, but also terribly expensive. Mr. Potter, it's not your responsibility to pay for these squib workers to reassemble Hogsmeade. The Ministry provides assistance – "

Harry cut her off, "The Ministry didn't offer any help until the end of last month. Were people supposed to pitch tents in the snow?"

"You can't solve every ill in our society by throwing your money at it," Madam Bones sighed.

"She's right, Harry. Now, we could have interceded – you did enter into a contract with the workers without a sign-off from either of us – but frankly, it would have made you look badly," Mr. Tonks said.

"And you've more than enough help with that, unfortunately," added Madam Bones.

Harry ground his teeth at that, before he grumbled, "Yeah, _The Watcher_... tell me about this Gazump, would you?"

Mr. Tonks said, "Reginald Gazump is an old-line pureblood. The Gazumps composed a House at one time, centuries ago. Before they could be absorbed, the heir at the time took all of the family monies and put them in trust. Mr. Gazump descends from a cadet line of the family. Somehow or another, his grandfather obtained control of the trust and started spreading largess. As for Gazump himself... he's in the neighbourhood of ninety, wouldn't you say, Madam Bones?"

"He's at least that... perhaps a hundred by now," said Madam Bones; "Reggie is the solicitor-of-record for the Hogwarts Board of Governors, which means nothing more than a spot of prestige. I haven't sought an opinion from him in the entire time that I've chaired the Board."

"Why would he start a newspaper?" Harry asked.

"Reggie was a part-owner of the _Daily Prophet_ at one time, so he probably fancies himself a newspaperman. The important figure here is Barnabas Cuffe," Madam Bones said.

Harry said, "I recognised the name... he used to run the _Prophet_, didn't he?"

"Cuffe was the editor and a part-owner at the time MacLeish purchased it. Rumour has it that he didn't want to sell, but he only held about a quarter of it. You would think that MacLeish set up some sort of arrangement to prevent Cuffe from operating another paper, wouldn't you?" said Mr. Tonks.

"If Cuffe couldn't establish another paper, perhaps he wasn't kept from editing or writing? That makes for a reasonable theory: Cuffe persuaded Reggie that it would be a good thing to compete with the _Prophet_," Madam Bones speculated.

"Well, it certainly doesn't bode well for you, Harry. Cuffe's always taken more pleasure in cutting people down than raising them up," said Mr. Tonks.

"How lucky for me," Harry deadpanned.

"One of his people has been enquiring into the Runcorn and Bagman killings. Something is about to be stirred up, that much is certain," Madam Bones said.

Mr. Tonks reached for one of his stacks of parchment. He said, "All right, Harry, let's begin with a few items that need to be addressed in the short term. I'll warn you straight away: you'll be signing your name more than a few times. After that, I think it's high time we review your limitations on entering into contracts."

Madam Bones nodded in agreement and summoned an expression that put Professor McGonagall's pursed lips to shame. Harry visibly winced. He hoped otherwise, but it seemed that the next hour or two were shaping up to be rather detention-like.

* * *

**IS THERE A MONSTER IN OUR MIDST?**

In the last three months, four well-regarded members of our community have been brutally slain. The first was the former Quidditch star Ludo Bagman, on December the fourteenth. The death of Rupert Starling, a warder for Gringotts, followed fifteen days later. Ministry official and philanthropist Jonathon Runcorn was killed on January the third. Two days ago, Leander Vaisley, a sundries and cauldron importer, was murdered near Diagon Alley.

Each of these men was killed in a similar manner. All four were stabbed with a large blade, and in two cases repeatedly so. An employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement shared with this writer that the blade is believed to be a sword, and some suspect that it was the same sword in each case.

If four upstanding wizards have been killed by the same means in such a brief period, then why is the Department of Magical Law Enforcement behaving as though these were four separate crimes? Common sense suggests that there is a brazen killer in our midst, preying upon the good people of wizarding Britain. If, as that employee of the Department told this writer, the killer is almost certainly a wizard, then how difficult can it be to apprehend this butcher? How many wizards can brandish a sword? Once the leaders of noble families are excluded – as all such men are instructed in fencing as a matter of comportment, but would have no reason to engage in such horrific acts – few potential killers remain.

_The Watcher _urges the Ministry to take swift action, before our community is once again struck by this terrifying menace!

_The Watcher_, March 10, 1997

* * *

_**March 11, 1997**_

Professor Tonks stopped Harry in the corridor as he made his way toward the Great Hall for breakfast. "Ted's trying to reach you," she told him; "It's something to do with the _Prophet_."

"I haven't seen it yet this morning – have you?" he asked.

"No time today, I'm afraid. The third years are supposed to be testing on the concept of computers and it's shaping up as a debacle. Did you know that I had to spend two entire sessions convincing many of them that such a thing exists?" the Professor sighed.

Harry winced at that. He promised, "I'll try to make it down to Hogsmeade and give him a ring, but it might be in the afternoon."

"He made it sound like an emergency, Harry. Do your best to reach him, all right? Oh, dear! I'm going to be late!" Professor Tonks called out, already on her way toward the north tower.

As soon as he entered the Great Hall, Hermione leapt from her seat and headed toward him, _Daily Prophet _in hand. "You need to see this," she said.

The front page was a blaze of colour and large headlines in angry fonts:

**WHO IS WATCHING **_**THE WATCHER**_**?**

_**WWN threatens action over 'Ministry front' accusation**_

_**Ministry accuses upstart paper of post owl tampering, **_

_**nonpayment of tariffs, and failure to file business registration**_

_**Cuffe in breach of contract with **__**Daily Prophet**__** ?**_

_**Flourish and Blotts turns away Cuffe at the door**_

**WHO ARE THE REAL CRIMINALS?**

_**Four wizards killed since December all tied to You-Know-Who**_

_**Upstart paper declares that purebloods are above suspicion in killings**_

"MacLeish doesn't do anything by half, does he?" Harry muttered.

"Did you know he was going to declare war?" Hermione asked.

"No. This isn't good, is it?" Harry sighed.

Before he made it halfway across the hall, he was bombarded by two owls – one with a Ministry for Magic tag – and a raven. The birds jockeyed for position to deliver their post, and the raven won out of sheer nastiness.

- - - - - - - - - -

_Mr. Potter,_

_Apologies for__ the short notice, but a significant business issue has come up with regard to the Daily Prophet. If you've followed the headlines recently, then you probably have a good idea of things. _

_We will be meeting this afternoon with the principals from __The Watcher__, and Mr. MacLeish wanted to offer you and the other partners an opportunity to attend. Your man Ted Tonks can certainly sit in your stead, given the notice and the demands of your schedule._

_If you can take us up on the offer, the meeting is scheduled at the Daily Prophet offices on Diagon Alley beginning at 3 PM._

_Regards,_

_J. Charles Royston_

_Vice President, Special Projects _

_The Vox Corporation_

- - - - - - - - - -

_Harry,_

_MacLeish has gone off his nut. I took a call from his man Royston at six o'clock this morning. It was a warning about today's __Prophet__ and an invitation to a meeting with Cuffe this afternoon. I'm of two minds about this meeting. You have every right to participate, but I don't know that you necessarily gain by being there. If this is the start of a battle royal between MacLeish and Cuffe, and if Cuffe sees you as being on MacLeish's side, then you'll be drawn into the muck. On the other hand, if you stay away, you lose the opportunity to influence the outcome and Cuffe probably comes for you out of sheer habit. _

_I will be attending the meeting. When you decide on attendance, please inform me._

_Ted Tonks_

_- - - - - - - - - - _

_Mr. Harry James Potter_

_Address unknown_

_Berwickshire, Scotland_

_c/o_

_Apprentice's Quarters_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Perth and Kinross, Scotland_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_This is to inform you that you have been named as a defendant in the following complaint:_

_Barnabas Cuffe and The Gazump Family Trust d/b/a The Watcher_

_v._

_Keith MacLeish and limited partners of Vox Publications England d/b/a The Daily Prophet _

_and as a plaintiff in the following complaint:_

_Keith MacLeish and limited partners of Vox Publications England d/b/a The Daily Prophet _

_v._

_Barnabas Cuffe and The Gazump Family Trust d/b/a The Watcher_

_We will issue instructions with regard to these actions no later than thirty days from the time of this notice._

_Kind regards,_

_Rupert Malaprop_

_Senior Clerk_

_Wizengamot Administrative Services_

_The Ministry for Magic of England and Scotland_

_- - - - - - - - - -_

Harry gathered up the three posts and the copy of the Prophet in one hand and rubbed at the bridge of his nose with the other. "I don't need this," he said to himself. He figured on calling Mr. Tonks at around one o'clock, after he conducted practical Defence lessons for the second year 'Puffs and Snakes and the fourth year 'Claws and Gryffindors. His head and his gut were in disagreement about whether to attend the meeting.

* * *

**FROM THE NOTES:**

MARCH 11 - DUMBLEDORE AND HARRY MEETING

Purpose: Harry seeks advice about whether or not to attend meeting between Keith MacLeish and Barnabas Cuffe (rival newspaper editor, used to edit the Daily Prophet)

* Harry is leaning toward going to a meeting that's probably about lawsuits – he's involved because of his part-ownership in the Prophet

* Dumbledore plays politics with his response – tries to remain mostly neutral but comments on the merits of each side (MacLeish vs. Cuffe)

* Make sure to include Dumbledore comments on what Cuffe's eventual impact on the stability of the Ministry might be (likely to lead toward Fudge's dismissal and a dangerous power vacuum); could have him make a rare favorable comment about MacLeish (at least the man's smart enough to prop up Fudge in the absence of an alternative)

* Harry decides to go to the meeting

* Dumbledore is concerned about secure transportation

* Harry suggests that he has a secure way to get to Diagon Alley, but backpedals when Dumbledore begins to press about how Harry can seemingly come and go from Hogwarts undetected

* Dumbledore suggests that Fawkes might take Harry directly to the Daily Prophet offices, points out the value of going in style – the phoenix agrees

* * *

Harry squeezed shut his eyes and was enveloped by the strange warmth of travelling with Fawkes. There was a trilling sound for a few moments and then a rush of cold air. He opened his eyes to a room of panicked wizards, two of whom were rather large and had their wands drawn and aimed.

"Erm... hello, there. I thought he'd, uh, take me to the entry," Harry said.

The only smile in the room was on the face of a very old man with a thick moustache and bushy sideburns. He said happily, "Oh, that's smashing! Dumbledore's pet gave you a lift!"

Harry shook his head and returned, "It doesn't work quite like that. I asked Fawkes whether he was willing to bring me, and he agreed."

Fawkes let forth a song just then. The two security wizards relaxed their postures but kept their wands at the ready. MacLeish and his man Curly Royston also relaxed. Ted Tonks took on a bemused expression. The Minister and Percy Weasley were also there, to Harry's surprise – the Minister looked to be annoyed, while Percy seemed almost wistful. Harry wondered if seeing Fawkes brought back memories from Percy's Headship. The unknown old man seemed to be on the edge of laughter. The man to his right was so bland as to be nearly unnoticeable, and Fawkes' presence seemed not to register for him at all.

The man to the old man's left had dark hair styled into a wave and the sort of dark facial hair that needed shaving by mid-afternoon. His reaction to Fawkes was a look of distaste; "Tell it to go on its way," he said.

Harry was immediately suspicious of anyone who responded that way to a phoenix. He strode directly toward the man with his hand extended and said, "Harry Potter. And you are...?"

"I'm Barnabas Cuffe, of course," the man huffed as he briskly rebuffed the offer of a handshake.

The bland man cleared his throat and everyone turned to him as though he'd just been noticed. "My name is Rupert Malaprop and I am the senior clerk for the Administrative Services of the Wizengamot," he said in a voice as nondescript as his face; "I am here at the request of the Minister since everyone present at this meeting is in some way a party to two competing complaints filed with the Wizengamot. If everyone would please take a seat...?"

Far from leaving, Fawkes perched himself on the back of Harry's chair. Cuffe looked ready to rebel, but said nothing. Ted Tonks sat to Harry's right, and MacLeish and Royston took up places adjacent to Mr. Tonks. Cuffe, another man who had been partly hidden from Harry by one of the security wizards, and the old man, all took up places opposite Harry and MacLeish. The bland fellow sat at one end of the table. The Minister hesitated for a moment, and then directed Percy to sit at the opposite end; he then seated himself to Harry's left.

Cuffe crossed his arms and said, "It figures you'd sit on that side of the table, Mr. Fudge. I'd have made you party to our complaint if I thought it would be allowed."

"You haven't exactly gone out of your way to build a working relationship with the Ministry this time, Barnabas. What am I supposed to do when you fail to take the barest steps to legally operate this new venture of yours?" Fudge returned.

The new man seated next to Cuffe said, "So what's your stake in this, Ted? I know you've been representing Potter..."

"I'm here for Harry, Devlin Whitehorn and Roddie Burnside. All three are minority owners in the Prophet," Mr. Tonks said.

The old man crooked an eyebrow and confirmed, "Roddie's put money into Mr. MacLeish's operation, has he? I hadn't heard that before."

"I thought Potter was the only partner," said Cuffe.

Malaprop placed his hands on the table, palms down, and said, "Perhaps we should introduce all of the parties?"

Cuffe blustered, "Do you have the impression that you're in charge of this meeting? If you think I'm letting one of Mr. Fudge's minions take charge –"

Malaprop cut in; he said evenly, "Mr. Cuffe, I am not a minion. I am a civil servant, and as such have no reason to take sides. In fact, it is better that I do not. I was in the employ of the Ministry before Mr. Fudge was appointed Minister, I am in the employ of the Ministry now, and I will be in the employ of the Minister after Mr. Fudge leaves the Ministry. If you know the first thing about the civil service, sir, then you surely know that I would have to lower my trousers in the Wizengamot chamber whilst singing "God Save the Bean" in order to stir up the slightest threat to my continued employment."

"Er... 'God Save the _what_'?" Harry said quietly.

Cuffe persisted, "Fine, you're not a minion. Still, you seem a bit... ehh... how shall I put it...?"

"Bland?" Mr. Tonks offered.

"Yes, yes: _bland_ – not the sort to run a meeting," said Cuffe.

"I work in the judicial system, Mr. Cuffe, and thusly I swim in shark-infatuated waters each and every day," said Malaprop.

"Infatuated...?" Harry muttered. Mr. Tonks caught his eye and gave a slow negative shake of the head.

"You'll do, Malaprop," laughed the old man.

Malaprop gestured to Royston, who introduced himself, "J. Charles Royston's my name. I work for Mr. MacLeish, as a Vice President for Vox Corporation."

"Keith MacLeish, chairman and chief executive officer of the Vox Corporation Worldwide, and publisher of the _Daily Prophet_."

"Theodore Tonks, QC. I am a barrister admitted to the Muggle's Honourable Society of Kendall's Inn and to the Magical Inn of Court as well as a practicing solicitor in both worlds. As I said before, I represent the interests of Mr. MacLeish's three minority partners in the _Daily Prophet_, to include Mr. Potter."

Harry thought for a moment about how to introduce himself, then cleared his throat and said, "Harry Potter... apprentice to Professor Albus Dumbledore, 13th Head of the Most Noble and Courageous House of Potter, and 21st Head of the Most Ancient and Pure House of Black."

The Minister was noticeably flustered by that, but quickly regained his bluster. "I am the Right Honourable Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic of England and Scotland," he declared.

Percy said, "My name is Percy Weasley, and I serve as Undersecretary for Ministerial Affairs of the Ministry for Magic."

The man who had earlier exchanged with Mr. Tonks said, "Harcourt Bellows: barrister affiliated with the Magical Inn of Court with dual practice as a solicitor-at-law. I represent The Gazump Family Trust in this matter."

The old man smiled directly at Harry and said, "I'm Reggie Gazump, an old meddler with a bit of money and an interest in public discourse. I must say, Odd Lovegood and Wilton Asbury should be here as well if we're going to set the bounds for the media."

"Barnabas Cuffe, director of publications for The Gazump Family Trust, and the injured party in these proceedings," Cuffe snapped.

"Oh, please..." MacLeish scoffed.

"I would like to begin with the Ministry's position on this matter, as it speaks to issues that extend beyond the competing complaints," Malaprop said.

The Minister waved his hand negligently and said, "Weasley...?"

Percy opened a binder, peered at a page inside, and then stated, "Mr. Cuffe and Mr. Gazump's publication, _The Watcher_, began its existence when Mr. Bellows opened a business vault at Mr. Gazump's direction in order to support the venture. Mr. Cuffe issued a solicitation for hire on January 8, let space for offices and printing equipment on January 14, received the first shipments of equipment on January 22, and carried out a list of business activities too long to state at this sitting prior to the first printing for distribution on March 3 and distribution on that day. As of this morning, the Ministry has received no registration of business, no filing for business tariffs, no documentation of persons employed... in short, we have received nothing at all. The lease was filed with the appropriate Ministry office but did not state the name under which business would be conducted, nor the purpose of business or its ownership. Mr. Cuffe, there's no getting around it: you have failed to carry out the most basic requirements to legally engage in a business in wizarding Britain."

"Mr. Cuffe, do you care to respond?" asked Malaprop.

"I don't own the publication and I've carried out the duties of my employment. I'm not saying anything else in this setting," Cuffe said.

"You must admit that this is a rather damning list. It almost seems as if you can't see the oblivious," Malaprop said. Harry snorted, and Malaprop squinted at him for a moment.

Gazump chuckled for a moment before he said, "Sounds like we really stuffed it up, eh? I haven't run a business in over forty years. For Merlin's sake, Cornelius, is there really this much to it these days? It almost sounds as if the Ministry doesn't want anyone to do business at all." Cuffe immediately grunted in agreement and MacLeish said quietly, "Hear, hear."

The Minister said, "The thing is, Reggie... did you and Cuffe skirt all of these requirements to gain an advantage? Think about how it looks! I think a reasonable person would look at this and decide that you just didn't want anyone to know about _The Watcher _until the owls went out."

Mr. Bellows said, "Don't speak to that, Reggie. There are fair competition clauses in the Ministry's business regulations. The Minister's fishing for treble fines."

"Bah," said Gazump; "If I hadn't had poor Barnabas running in circles, how much would it have cost to meet all of these requirements? Five hundred galleons? A thousand?"

"The filing fees total fifty-four galleons and eight sickles, Mr. Gazump. Fines for non-compliance are calculated on a daily basis. As of this morning, the fines totalled just under three hundred galleons," Percy announced.

"If my maths are still in working order, one thousand galleons will cover the fees, the fines, and treble damages – is that right, young man?" Gazump asked Percy.

"With about seventy galleons to spare, sir," Percy replied.

Gazump grinned and declared, "Cornelius, I'll provide you with a draft for one thousand galleons. Bellows, stipulate to everything. There, was that so difficult?"

MacLeish chuckled and said, "Now that's a man who knows how to do business."

Malaprop said, "That did go rather nicely, didn't it? It would be nice if the Administrative Services Office weren't required to process a hearing on this situation. Perhaps you could simply indict each other to supper?"

Royston nearly choked to keep from laughing, Harry began one of Covelli's calming meditations, and Gazump let forth a child-like snicker. Malaprop eyed everyone at the table; "Pardon?" he said.

"Get on with it," the Minister ordered.

Malaprop nodded and said, "Mr. Cuffe, are you willing to state your complaint here, or shall I ask Mr. Bellows to do so?"

Cuffe's lips thinned and he began, "Firstly, the Prophet made statements both yesterday and this morning with regard to Ministry complaints against _The Watcher_ –"

" – to which counsel just stipulated, Mr. Cuffe," said Royston.

"No one said a blasted thing about interfering with post owls, did they? We did no such thing!" Cuffe spat.

Mr. Bellows nodded in agreement; "Yes... what's that all about, Weasley?" he asked.

"If I may?" Mr. Malaprop cut in; "That is actually a Ministry response to Mr. MacLeish's counterclaim. It does appear that for reasons unknown, the March 3 edition of _The Watcher_ was delivered via post owls owned by the _Daily Prophet_."

Cuffe's brow furrowed. He said, "We're booked with Telester's, and we only had about seventy advance subscribers – although that's already up to four hundred in a week's time. Are you implying that owls from the _Prophet_ delivered our bulk drops as well?"

"We're not implying anything. We're telling you that it happened, because it did. We have the tracking charms to prove it," said Royston.

"If that's true – and we'll want documented proof – then we'll make good on the costs," Cuffe said.

"It happened again on the 10th," Royston added.

Gazump steepled his hands and said, "Isn't that fascinating? Something is drawing your owls over to our presses, MacLeish. Let me ask you this: How is it that you call in your owls? How do they know to pick up your papers?"

"They're keyed to particular employees – three of them in a descending order, so that the paper still gets out during illness or scheduled holiday. That's generally how everyone does it, at least when one owns the owls. I imagine Cuffe has something similar with Telester's," said MacLeish.

"Another question, if you'll indulge me...? Is your managing editor one of those three persons, per chance?" asked Gazump.

"The first, of course," MacLeish said.

"Bugger," Royston said immediately.

Malaprop looked at him askance. "Whom or what is to be buggered, exactly?" he asked.

"Curly, you can't be serious...?" MacLeish insisted.

"I doubt it was ever done. He's not supposed to be working in the trade, so I suppose they didn't consider it a priority," Royston pointed out.

Gazump cackled, "Barnabas, you're still keyed to their owls."

Cuffe said flatly, "Impossible. Firstly, _no one_ is that big a bungler. Secondly, I'd think it would interfere with the Telester's owls, and they appeared as expected."

"And how would you have known if they were _Telester's _owls?" asked Gazump.

"Because that's who we're doing business with, of course... oh, bugger all!" Cuffe grumbled.

"Looks as if that one's a scratch," Mr. Tonks said.

"Agreed," said Mr. Bellows.

"I would like to discuss the counter-complaint from Mr. MacLeish for a bit, if you please? Mr. MacLeish, what are the perpendiculars of the situation, from your perspective?" Malaprop asked.

MacLeish looked at him oddly. "The what...?"

"I'm sorry...?" Malaprop said.

MacLeish said, "You were asking me...?"

"The particulars of the situation, if you please?" Malaprop returned.

"Good grief..." Royston muttered.

MacLeish said, "First and foremost, there's the matter of Cuffe's severance agreement. He is prohibited from owning any portion of any media outlet in the United Kingdom for five years. He is also prohibited from being employed by any media outlet in the United Kingdom for three years. At minimum, he's the editor of _The Watcher_. Therefore, the agreement has been broken. Q.E.D."

Bellows nodded. "You're partially correct," he allowed; "Barnabas cannot own any portion of any news outlet in the United Kingdom. To the best of my knowledge, he does not. _The Watcher_ is not a media outlet as defined in the severance agreement. It is the weekly official publication of the Gazump Family Trust –"

"Pull the other one, mate. Nice try," MacLeish said.

Bellows returned, "You just told us the agreement was with regard to media outlets, but it is not. The agreement says, and I quote: 'Mr. Cuffe shall not own any interest in any outlet focused on presenting current news to the public.' _The Watcher_ is a journal of opinion, Mr. MacLeish. It is so named in the masthead; it is so described within its own pages. Did you actually read Mr. Gazump's manifesto on the front of the March 3 issue? You might want to read it again. _The Watcher_ is not a newspaper by your definition. Therefore, a news outlet per the agreement does not employ Mr. Cuffe. However, let us assume that _The Watcher_ did, in fact, meet your definition. The Watcher does not employ Mr. Cuffe; The Gazump Family Trust employs him. He is the director of publications for the Trust. Toby Elsinore is the editor. It's there for the reading in the masthead, sir... Q.E.D."

MacLeish crossed his arms and said, "Hmph... clever of you. We can pick that to pieces at trial and you know it. Let's move on to the string of defamations."

Gazump held up his hand to Bellows and then leant forward in his chair. He said amiably, "Mr. MacLeish, there's been enough dancing in circles here. You believe that you were defamed. Fair enough: you're entitled to your opinion, as is The Gazump Family Trust and its members, of which there is me and myself. However, the mother country's common law thwarts you in this instance.

"Has this supposed defamation caused you a loss in trade? Even if you could demonstrate that fewer people are reading your newspaper, you would still have to demonstrate that it was solely as a result of the opinions printed in _The Watcher_. Perhaps people simply no longer care for what your people are writing?

"Has this supposed defamation caused reasonable Englishmen to think worse of you? It would be quite a trick to further damage your reputation, Mr. MacLeish. Those who don't think you evil instead think you misguided or dangerous.

"Is anything that was printed untrue? Were they views that could be attributed to a reasonable person? I believe that we could prove our statements true to the satisfaction of a Wizengamot panel. We alleged nothing.

"Even if you were to prevail, what would you gain? Do you honestly believe that you could prove malice or reckless disregard? There would be no compensatory damages. There would be no public vindication for you. In fact, I suspect you would be viewed as the heartless oligarch that most people already believe you to be. Now, you and I doubtless agree that Barnabas would not be a sympathetic defendant. Can you say the same about me, I wonder?

"I've not set out to hurt anyone. What I want is for the people of England to receive more than one point of view. I don't think that's been the case since you purchased the _Daily Prophet_. If Cornelius were to let Wilton Asbury sell you the WWN, then I _know_ there would be only one voice. I meant what we printed on our first front page, Mr. MacLeish. The _Daily Prophet _suffered its biases, especially in the last handful of years before its sale. Barnabas knows of my concerns and I will be keeping a mindful watch.

"So, young man, here's what I believe is going to happen. We're going to withdraw our respective complaints. We're also going to set aside your contract with Barnabas. If you wish to discuss recovery of some portion of the associated galleons, then the two of us can _indict_ each other to supper, as the gentleman from the Ministry put it. We're going to make certain that Barnabas is no longer linked to your post owls, and I trust that will be carried out today. I'm going to provide Cornelius with a draft to remedy our business errors. We're both going to continue publishing. I'm going to counter your views on wizardry, which I find extreme and which noticeably colour your reporting of the news. On the whole, the two of us are going to get along famously... unless you insist on owning the WWN. At that point, I regret to say that hostilities will commence. What say you?"

MacLeish sat very still for several seconds, obviously studying Gazump's face. Then he broke into a wide smile. "Oh, I like you! You've got style," he said; "Curly, lift our complaint by close of business. Cuffe, watch yourself: I know your type. I'll let you throw your handfuls of mud, but if you take matters too far I'll have a warehouse of mud to drop on you." Cuffe sneered at him but otherwise kept his thoughts to himself.

"And what about Mr. Tonks? Are your interests addressed?" Gazump asked.

"I knew you weren't as far gone as you like to pretend," Mr. Tonks said.

Gazump grinned at him and said, "At my age, I'm not suited to practice on a daily basis. Still, I do like to think that my faculties haven't completely escaped me." He turned to the Minister and asked, "Cornelius, do you have anything to add...?"

"If both complaints are withdrawn and the fees and fines are settled, the Ministry has no remaining interests," the Minister said.

"I'll be certain the draft gets to your man Weasley shortly," said Gazump; "And you, Mr. Malaprop...?"

The bland Ministry man shrugged and said, "I'm pleased that this is reaching resolution without a formal hearing... without more than a trifling of paperwork, actually. You can't imagine how many filings we receive, and most of it is suitable for nothing more than a good binning. Frivolous complaints have been deflowering our budget for years."

"Oh, dear Lord..." Royston choked out.

"Er... you're dismissed... move along now; we've private business to conduct!" said the Minister quickly. Malaprop exited the room and as soon as the door was firmly closed, everyone present – even the irritable Mr. Cuffe – burst into guffaws.

* * *

**FROM THE NOTES:**

CONVERSATION: REGGIE GAZUMP AND HARRY

* Gazump asks to speak to Harry alone, Ted Tonks reluctantly leaves

* Gazump's temperament is generally mild although he's not afraid to be directive

* Gazump is a traditionalist: not a pureblood booster per se, but generally supportive of the wizarding way of life as-is

* Harry brings up the comment from The Watcher that the sword killer couldn't be the son of a noble house, Gazump reiterates that someone of a noble house would have nothing to gain

* Harry brings up the Prophet observation that all four men who were killed had or were suspected of Voldemort/Death Eater ties, Gazump says he knows the Starling family well and didn't believe Rupert Starling had those sort of connections on his own – basically he was two degrees of separation away

* Gazump chides Harry about introducing himself as Lord Potter and Lord Black, says that Harry needs to "behave like a nobleman if you're going to bandy those titles about"

* Gazump says that he liked the Potters, especially Harry's grandfather Alexander, and that he likes Harry based on their conversation. He also says that Harry may not feel the same about him by the end of the week, but hopes that time will change that. Harry presses to find out more but is rebuffed.

* Gazump's last statement is to reiterate that Harry needs to begin acting like a nobleman, and adds that this starts by being cautious with one's words even in casual settings

* * *

_**March 13, 1997**_

Harry sat on the veranda of his quarters. A handful of students were making use of the courtyard despite the early hour. Spat had brought him a light breakfast, and he nibbled at a bit of bread while paging through a text recommended by Detheridge. An unfamiliar owl swooped down and perched upon the railing. He thought that it was bearing the _Daily Prophet_, which he still didn't take regularly despite his partial ownership. The owl skittered impatiently from talon to talon, so he rose from his chair and took the paper; it flew off without waiting for payment.

Harry was perplexed. "What's this? _The Watcher._..?" he thought aloud. He had understood _The Watcher_ to be a weekly. He unfolded it and sank back into his chair at first sight of the front page:

* * *

**IS THE KILLER SWORDSMAN TO BE FOUND AT HOGWARTS?**

The recent killings of four upstanding wizards have had one common element: the use of a large blade, believed to be a sword, as the instrument of murder. Setting aside the unlikely possibility that a house-trained nobleman is responsible, where could a person find the greatest concentration of swordsmen?

Surprisingly, the answer is at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hogwarts has this year revived the art of the sword as part of a Duelling Club. The Club is preparing Hogwarts students for the European junior duelling circuit, from which the school withdrew nearly sixty years ago.

It is no surprise to find Mr. Harry Potter at the centre of this venture, as he seems to be closely associated with most of Hogwarts' most unlikely and unusual events. Mr. Potter has been personally trained by three legendary duellists: Hogwarts own Professors Flitwick and Dumbledore as well as school's current Potions Master, the legendary Marquis de Maupassant. It is frightening to consider the damage that someone such as Mr. Potter could inflict with a blade, particularly with such expert schooling. Mr. Bill Weasley directs the Club. Mr. Weasley is a former Hogwarts Head Boy and hardened curse breaker, who was fully qualified for the masters duelling circuit a decade ago.

Consider the timing of these murders:

The first took place in the very early hours of December 14, the start of an open Hogsmeade weekend for Hogwarts students. The second and third took place on December 29 and January 3. December 29 was in the midst of the school's Yule break. January 3 was an open Hogsmeade day for upper-form students so that they could assist villagers in their recovery from the events of January 1. The most recent murder, that of Leander Vaisley, took place on March 8. March 8 and 9 were an open Hogsmeade weekend for Hogwarts students.

Could Hogwarts' new Duelling Club have trained this savage killer to wield his weapon of choice?

The Club's membership includes the scions of the Bones, Greengrass, Longbottom, Pucey and Zabini families. One of the Muggle-borns participating in the Club has ties to the Muggle's nobles, and was trained in fencing as a youth similarly to the scions of our own senior houses. As with the sons of our world's leading families, this young man seems unlikely to put his position at risk.

One would like to say the same of Mr. Potter, who heads two ancient houses by dint of birth and inheritance. However, he has killed before in the defence of persons and property. Last month, Mr. Potter told a group of Hogwarts students that "if we're going hunting, let's do it with clear heads". What or _whom _is Mr. Potter hunting?

One would also like to say the same of Mr. Draco Malfoy, who now leads the house of his birth by virtue of his father's ineligibility. Would the younger Mr. Malfoy turn to violence as a means of revenging himself? Could he be tainted by his father's recent unseemly behaviour?

Nine other members of this Club have no such history or encumbrances. We urge the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to take this possibility seriously. The members of this Club, even those who would ordinarily be above suspicion, should be thoroughly investigated. Professor Dumbledore and the Hogwarts Board of Governors should consider whether the Club should be disbanded in order to eliminate even the appearance of complicity in these crimes most foul.

_The Watcher_, March 13, 1997

* * *

Harry stood at the back of the classroom next to the Headmaster. Rufus Scrimgeour stood at the lectern and said to those assembled, "Please identify yourselves as I call your names: Abbott; Betancourt; Bones; Bruce; Cadwallader; Entwhistle; Finch-Fletchley; Goldstein; Goyle; Greengrass; Longbottom; Malfoy; McDougal; Weasley, Ginevra; Weasley, Ronald... I see Mr. Potter is here... Miss Tonks, is that Mr. William Weasley with you? Detheridge, there you are... Filch, is it? Mr. de Maupassant, thank you for coming; I assume that's your apprentice? Excellent – everyone has arrived.

"As some of you know, the newspaper known as _The Watcher_ printed an opinion this morning regarding the recent string of killings. They made a reasonable point about where a fellow might find swordsmen in this day and time. I decided to follow their recommendation and make some enquiries here at Hogwarts."

He inclined his head toward a group of red-robed Aurors and continued, "These are my associates, Aurors Dawlish, Ettinger, McElvoy and Staunton. They will be conducting interviews on my behalf. Professor Dumbledore, I would like to examine all of the equipment used by the Duelling Club as well as any swords that the Club's members may have in their own possession. Would you and the castle's house elves facilitate that, please?"

"We will of course assist in your investigation," Dumbledore said.

Scrimgeour pointed to Harry and gestured for him to come forward. As the students followed the four Aurors to other rooms and the teachers left to gather Club equipment, Harry was directed into a chair next to the teacher's desk.

The Head Auror waited until the room cleared, and then he sealed the door and glared at Harry. "Did you actually suggest to someone that you were 'going hunting'?" he demanded to know.

Harry started, "I think I know what they meant. I was talking about the Head Boy's – "

Scrimgeour cut him off, "That's unimportant. Did you use the words, or not?"

"Something like them," Harry admitted.

Scrimgeour pounded his fist against the desk. "Dash it all, Potter! Think of how this looks to the average wizard! You're the Boy-Who-Lived and a highly visible opponent of You-Know-Who. You're overheard telling people that you're 'going hunting'. Then Keith bloody MacLeish does you no favours by suggesting that all four of the dead men had ties to You-Know-Who. It looks bad, Potter, that's how it looks: very, very bad."

"May I finish now?" Harry asked tersely. When Scrimgeour waved a hand, he went on, "Adrian Pucey was going on about starting an open war with Voldemort's sympathizers in Slytherin House, and I was trying to talk down the idea. There are two dozen people who can vouch for that."

"Obviously one of them vouched for it to _The Watcher_, didn't they?" Scrimgeour countered.

Harry sighed and asked, "So what happens now?"

"Well, this is when I ask you for your whereabouts between the hours of 10 PM on December 13 and 4 AM on December 14," said Scrimgeour.

"I was here," Harry said.

"Presumably you were alone or asleep," Scrimgeour added.

"I was with Hermione – Hermione Granger – until sometime around midnight, and in my quarters after that," Harry added.

"And between 10 PM on December 28 and 4 AM on December 29?" asked Scrimgeour.

"I was in St. Ebb... that's where I live when I'm not here. It's on the coast. I have a tower house there," Harry said.

"Can anyone back that up?" Scrimgeour asked.

"The twenty-eighth... we had a party that night... I stayed – er – at that place – sorry, I can't say. I stayed there with Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom that night," Harry said.

"You're unable to tell me where this was?" Scrimgeour clarified.

"I _can't _tell you," Harry said.

"Is this place near your home in St. Ebb?" asked Scrimgeour.

"Yes," Harry managed to say.

"I won't press, then," Scrimgeour said, and he stopped to scribble something on a parchment before him.

"I guess January 3 is next, then? I was here in the castle until just before 6 AM, which is when we went down to Hogsmeade and worked until 10 PM," Harry said.

"And before 6 AM, where were you? In your quarters? Can anyone confirm that?" Scrimgeour asked.

"Erm... Hermione can," Harry said.

Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow. "She can account for the entire time between 10 PM on the 2nd and 6 AM on the 3rd?" he asked.

"That's right," said Harry.

"That leaves March 8, between 6 AM and noon," Scrimgeour said.

"I was in the Great Hall for breakfast at 7 AM, then in Hogsmeade working on the Gamp's house from 8 until 10, and then I was with Madam Bones and Ted Tonks at the Three Broomsticks until lunch," Harry said.

"How do you wake in the morning – do you use a clock?" Scrimgeour asked.

"I used a clock when I was in the dormitory, but the house elves wake the staff. Spat must have come in at 6 that morning," Harry answered.

" 'Spat', you say? A specific house elf is assigned to you?" Scrimgeour clarified.

"That's right. I'm stuck with Spat, probably because I'm an apprentice," said Harry.

"I take it you'd rather have your alarm clock back?" Scrimgeour asked.

Harry nodded and said, "I feel like a poncey git having a house elf wait on me. Besides, Spat has a bit of a nasty streak. Every time I stop him, he comes up with another evil scheme for getting me out of bed."

"I should be able to confirm your comings and goings through the elf, then. Dumbledore can arrange that for me. _The Watcher_ was right on one thing: this is likely the work of one person. Assuming your presentation holds up, I'd say it's nigh unto impossible you're that person," Scrimgeour said.

"Can I help you with anything else?" Harry asked.

"Do you think one of your schoolmates is doing this?" Scrimgeour returned.

Harry said, "Look, I have the freedom to come and go without trouble – I pass a note to the Headmaster, and then it's out the gates. For students, though, it's quite a chore. Even on Hogsmeade weekends, it would be hard to leave the castle before eight in the morning without a faculty escort. I've had students leave the castle with me from time to time, but March the eighth is the first time since I was a fifth-year that I've gone on a Hogsmeade weekend. Usually the Headmaster has had me on watch in the castle. So, you're saying that a student has gotten out of the castle three times in the middle of the night, then made his way from here to the south of England, killed someone, tidied up or whatever, and snuck back into the castle afterward? It's hard to imagine, isn't it?"

"It would take a lot of help, certainly – both inside and outside the castle," Scrimgeour admitted, "but I stand behind the decision to investigate."

"Oh, I'm not disagreeing with you, sir. It's as likely as anything else," Harry said.

"I will promise you this much, Potter: to the extent that I can prevent it, this won't be left to linger in the press. When we can clear someone from suspicion, we'll announce it straight away. The Ministry isn't out to get you this year... well, that applies to the DMLE, at least," said Scrimgeour.

"Glad to hear it," Harry said; "Is there anything else, then?"

Scrimgeour put on a crooked smile. "I have to ask you: what's it like to duel with de Maupassant?" he said. Harry laughed aloud at that, and the mood in the room lightened considerably.

* * *

As Harry passed the Fat Lady's portrait, he could hear a commotion from the direction of his chambers. He let his wand drop from its holster and into his hand.

Ron's voice carried down the corridor: "You've lost it, mate. Harry would never do that, not to anyone," he insisted.

"That horrible man tried to convince me that Harry had given up my name as part of some sort of conspiracy to commit those murders. I still don't know why they interrogated me: I've never even held a sword in my hands!" Hermione protested.

"Weasley, they had my comings and goings recorded. They knew things that they couldn't have. Potter's one of a pretty small number of people who could have given all of that up," Rob Cadwallader countered.

"When an Auror is making a case for not associating with someone, what's a person supposed to do?" asked Morag McDougal.

Harry wondered if the entire Duelling Club had met in his quarters. He slowed his pace and continued to listen.

Anna de Flandres, the Marquis' apprentice, returned, "These Aurors, they set out to create confusion, Mlle. McDougal. Into four groups we were divided. The interviewing, it was done one at a time, yes? M. Cadwallader, the Aurors... they could have spoken with all of us as well as all of the professors before they spoke to you."

"That's a good point," said Adrian Pucey. "Bets, did anyone come and go during your meeting?"

Pucey's friend Elston Betancourt said, "That Dawlish fellow pulled McElvoy out of the room for a bit."

"I was with Auror Staunton. Auror Dawlish interrupted my meeting, too," Neville chimed in.

Greg Goyle said, "It was Ettinger for me. Dawlish came in."

"Even you should see that there's a pattern here, Weasley," Blaise Zabini said with a smirk.

Ron shot back, "Oi! I didn't say a thing! Oh... and Dawlish broke in on my meeting as well, for what it's worth."

Harry turned the corner and leaned against the door frame leading into his quarters. "Keep in mind that Dawlish was one of the four Aurors who almost killed Professor McGonagall during the OWLs," he said. The entire Duelling Club was indeed in his living room, even Malfoy. "Fancy meeting all of you here," he added.

There was an uncomfortable silence, which was broken by Holly Bruce. "I'll ask it if no one else will. Were you spinning stories to the Aurors to get yourself out of a scrape?" she said.

"Absolutely not," he said immediately.

"Who interrogated you?" Anthony Goldstein asked.

Harry said, "I sat down with Scrimgeour for a few minutes. He asked where I was during each of the killings. The rest of it was a few questions about my apprenticeship. That's all there was."

Malfoy snorted. "Isn't it obvious? You're supposed to turn against one another. That leads to justifiable suspicion by the DMLE. Then, the Ministry can order the Duelling Club shut, thereby appearing to have accomplished something in the matter. Scrimgeour is political; he's looking for a way to jump the queue. This may be his chance to throw the Boy-Who-Lived off a cliff and then catch him on the way down. As for Dawlish, it's well known that he's dirty. He could be stirring the cauldron on his own, or for someone other than Scrimgeour. But please, feel free to draw your blades, form a circle, and plunge them into Potter. Much as I'd like to help, I'm afraid that I have prior engagements. Now, if that's all...?" he said, and then sauntered to the door.

"Thanks for the warning," Harry said evenly. Malfoy gave him a stiff nod in return and took his leave.

"Don't worry, mate – I didn't let the ferret touch anything," Ron said immediately.

Blaise Zabini shook his head. "Charming as always, Weasley," he said.

* * *

**FROM THE NOTES:**

QUALIFIED ALIBIES FOR THE FOUR KILLINGS: DUELLING CLUB

("Asleep in the dorm" doesn't qualify unless this can be documented by means other than self-reporting during the time period in question)

"Persons of interest" in **bold**

Hannah Abbott: 3 of 4 (Susan; parents; Ministry examiner)

Elston Betancourt: 2 of 4 (Pucey; public setting)

Susan Bones: 2 of 4 (Madam Bones; Hannah)

Holly Bruce: 3 of 4 (roommate; Hogsmeade villagers; parents)

Rob Cadwallader: 1 of 4 (parents & family - extensive)

Kevin Entwhistle: 2 of 4 (Goldstein; parents)

**Justin Finch-Fletchley: 1 of 4 (parents)**

**Anthony Goldstein: 1 of 4 (Christmas)**

Gregory Goyle: 2 of 4 (Pucey; mother)

**Daphne Greengrass: 1 of 4 (Parkinson)**

**Neville Longbottom: 0 of 4**

Draco Malfoy: 2 of 4 (Pucey; Narcissa)

Morag McDougal: 2 of 4 (Lovegood; parents)

Adrian Pucey: 2 of 4 (Goyle; Betancourt)

**Ginny Weasley: 1 of 4 (Christmas)**

Ron Weasley: 2 of 4 (Christmas; Granger)

**Bill Weasley: 1 of 4 (Christmas)**

**Tonks: 1 of 4 (Christmas)**

Harry Potter: 4 of 4 (Christmas; Granger; Hogwarts elves x2)

_Hermione Granger: 2 of 4 (Potter x2)_

* * *

**RABASTAN LESTRANGE DEAD!**

_Vicious Death Eater's body found on Knockturn Alley_

_Was he the fifth victim of the Butcher?_

Azkaban escapee and infamous Death Eater Rabastan Lestrange has been killed. Lestrange's body was found early this morning behind a trash heap on Knockturn Alley. For the fifth time in recent months, a wizard has died at the end of a blade. The _Daily Prophet _has obtained heretofore unreleased details about the gruesome efforts of the so-called Butcher, the unknown person believed to be responsible for all five deaths.

In all five cases, the wizards were killed by near-decapitation. According to a DMLE source, each man was laid on his back and sliced at the neck in a sawing motion until the blade reached roughly halfway through. In three of the five cases, there were additional slicing wounds believed to be evidence of duelling; these wounds were considerable in the case of Ludo Bagman. In the cases of Lestrange and Rupert Starling, there was only the cut at the neck. In all five cases, there is evidence that the men were at some point physically tied at the wrists and ankles, apparently by a coarse rope. Three of the men – Runcorn, Vaisley and Lestrange – are believed to have been killed in locations other than where the bodies were found.

Perhaps the strangest element of these murders lies in the cryptic note left at each scene. The identical notes, produced by a Muggle device called a type-writer, list three numbers: 35, 18, and 19. The DMLE has no theory regarding the significance of these numbers.

Based upon evidence obtained from each killing, investigators believe that the Butcher is roughly the same height as Ludo Bagman or Rupert Starling – approximately 5 feet and 10 inches. The blade used to slash the wizards' throats was between 12 and 18 inches long and extraordinarily sharp. The other blade wounds, particularly those on Mr. Bagman, were likely caused by a longer and narrower weapon; investigators presume that this was a sword. The very precise nature of the killing cuts suggests to DMLE investigators that this person may engage in a livelihood where skilled use of knives is customary, such as butchering, horticulture or potions making.

There are few who will miss Mr. Lestrange, who was a scourge upon wizarding society during You-Know-Who's first rise and was known to be in his service once again. DMLE officials do not expect the body to be claimed and will provide for a pauper's funeral rite after seven days have passed. Mr. Lestrange was not believed to be married or to have children. He is reportedly survived by his infamous brother and sister-in-law, Rodolphus Lestrange and Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black.

the _Daily Prophet_, March 14, 1997

* * *

_**March 14, 1997**_

Harry winced as he slapped a murtlap poultice onto his shin. Flitwick had been particularly brutal, and even though Madam Pomfrey's ministrations took care of cuts completely and bruising to a great degree, they never seemed to resolve the lingering pain from burns. He was utterly spent, and Flitwick had been kind enough to cancel the rest of his lessons on his behalf.

"Why does Professor Dumbledore let him work you over like this?" Hermione fretted.

"It's the sort of training I need. I can handle it," said Harry. To distract her, he added, "What is it you're doing there?"

Hermione was poring over a sheet of parchment covered with runes drawn in concentric circles. She said, "I'm trying to understand the runic construct for the Sending ceremony. The secret is in that spiral. I wish I could recall which runes the spiral crossed..."

Harry held out his hand for the parchment and said, "Let me have a look, would you?"

Hermione was dubious but reluctantly handed it over. "If you're sure...?" she said.

He followed the innermost circle of runes with his fingertip for almost half the circle before he said with certainty, "Here; it was this one... and here it is again in the second circle. I'll bet that it meets the same one all the way out. Look..." He drew his finger across the circles in a spiralling move, crossing the same rune where he met each successive circle.

"You're right..." she said quietly.

He grinned at her and said, "What? I'm not a complete idiot, you know? I'm finding that I've a pretty good memory for runes, as well... should have taken Runes instead of stupid sodding Divination."

She reviewed the parchment and said slowly, "So... these are charging runes... which means... the ritual triggers a particular circle of runes... and directs the resulting energy through the charging runes – one sending and one receiving – to the next circle... it's a bit like building a ward to intentionally collapse but feed a second and larger ward as a result. Honestly, it's remarkable that the Sender isn't killed..."

"There was a lot of magic flying around. For a moment there at the end, I felt like I could do anything," he admitted.

"Well, I have to admit that I still don't understand the ritual per se, but there's a lot to be learned from this rune arrangement," she said absently.

The door to Harry's quarters abruptly shot open and he was instantly to his feet – and instantly in pain. "What's going on here?" he ground out.

It was Auror Dawlish, with Filch skulking in the corridor behind him. "Potter, I'm here about last night. Where were you?" he snapped.

Harry eased himself back onto his chair. "Wondered when you lot would show up," he said casually; then he raised his voice and added, "Filch, you're not supposed to open staff quarters for _anyone_ without permission from the Headmaster. You could have set off the staff wards doing that. I'll be telling Professor Dumbledore about this." The irritating caretaker grumbled under his breath and walked away.

Without invitation, Dawlish closed the entry door and sat himself in a chair opposite Harry. "Get on with it, Potter – where were you?"

"Last night? I had rounds with Professor Vector from ten until midnight, and then came back here to read until one... that's when Spat came to check on me and set a waking time," Harry said.

"Spat? Who is Spat?" Dawlish demanded.

Harry answered, "Spat is a house elf. There's one assigned to each of the staff. They know where we are at all times. I went over this with Head Auror Scrimgeour, you know?"

Dawlish sneered, "Isn't that nice? Well, he doesn't have time for the likes of you. This elf is responsible for knowing where you are and waking you up, is it? I suppose it tucks you in, does it?"

Harry said evenly, "He performs the same services for me as he would if he served the Headmaster... or Professor McGonagall. You remember Professor McGonagall, don't you...? I suppose she was your Transfiguration instructor, too?"

Dawlish growled, "That's not your business. Someone will be checking on that elf, mark my words. Who left the castle last night? How did they do it? How have you been aiding and abetting this person?"

Harry began a calming mantra silently, even as he returned, "Head Auror Scrimgeour – you know, your superior? – he was dead certain that I'm not connected to these killings."

Dawlish hissed, "The Head Auror likes to calculate things. People seem to like you right now. Me, I figure that just because we were wrong about You-Know-Who last year doesn't mean we had _you_ wrong at all. You're an attention-seeking troublemaker, Potter, and you're a killer – that's a fact. It stands to reason a bloke like you would have no trouble offing someone like Lestrange."

"Well, I'm not going to lose any sleep over him being dead. Are you?" Harry snapped despite his best efforts.

Dawlish's voice grew less harsh; he said, "Of course not – he was murdering scum, just like the rest of his family. Look, I can understand it. You've got a lot of reasons to hate anybody associated with You-Know-Who. And Lestrange... well, I can understand why you might decide to help the Longbottom boy –"

"_Neville?_ You think Neville Longbottom's been doing this?" Hermione said incredulously.

Dawlish glared at her and growled, "I don't recall speaking to you, little girl. If we're investigating dark rituals, though, you'll be my first stop. Don't think that I've forgotten your stunt in Hogsmeade – that Compact woman was covering for you, and we both know it."

"I'm going to fetch the Headmaster," she said and then stood to leave.

Dawlish drew his wand. He spat, "You're not going anywhere until I've finished with Potter. Sit down, shut up, and _remember your place_!"

Before either Harry or Hermione could react, Dawlish was pulled over the back of his chair by forces unknown; the door exiting Harry's chambers flew open on its own; and the Auror was thrown against the corridor wall opposite the door, where he remained stuck – and terribly angry. Harry stood and cast a silencing charm in Dawlish's direction and then stalked toward the trapped Auror. Just as he was about to enter the corridor, Spat popped into existence in his path.

The house elf gave a malicious and excessively toothy smile and said in a simpering tone, "Spat sees that Nasty Auror Man is sticking to the wall, Harry Potter sir. Spat thinks Nasty Auror Man needs his mouth scrubbed most thoroughly, Harry Potter sir. Just this morning, Spat overheard Nasty Auror Man talking to Smart Mister Goldstein and calling him a freak and saying that Dark Lord Grindelwald should have wiped out all of his kind... and Spat overheard Nasty Auror Man trying to make Strong Mister Goyle draw his wand and calling Strong Mister Goyle a cretin and a Death Eater in training... and Spat overheard Nasty Auror Man calling Nice Miss Bruce a mudblood... and Spat overheard Nasty Auror Man telling Not-Quite-As-Nasty Auror Man that the only reason he played nice with Noble Miss Bones is because Old Madam Bones is one mean bitch. Spat is happy to take care of the scrubbing, Harry Potter sir, as he is excellent with soap and a stiff brush... or Spat is happy to fetch the Headmaster so that Nasty Auror Man can be ejected from the premises, if Harry Potter sir prefers."

"Do it – bring him here," Harry growled.

"Spat wonders if Harry Potter sir might destroy Nasty Auror Man before Spat returns with the Headmaster?" the house elf mused aloud.

"Well, Spat had better make it quick, then," Harry snarled.

"Spat sees that Harry Potter sir is making the stone wall ripple with magic, and Spat would not like to be digging Nasty Auror Man from the rubble," Spat said hesitantly.

Harry clenched his fists hard enough to draw blood with his nails. Hermione came up from behind and put her hands on his shoulders. "I'll keep Harry from flattening the nasty Auror, Spat – I promise," she said lightly.

"You're trapped by the staff wards, Dawlish, and only the Headmaster can let you loose. The wards expel anyone who means harm to the persons keyed to the rooms. You drew your wand on us and meant to use it... and I have proof," Harry hissed.

Dawlish gritted his teeth and tried as hard as he could to free himself, but he barely managed to shift his arms. He silently swore a blue streak as Harry drew closer; for her part, Hermione tightened her grip on Harry's shoulders.

Auror McElvoy entered the corridor from the stairs at a dead run. "Drop your wand _now_, Potter!" he shouted.

Harry calmly handed his wand to Hermione and then crossed his arms; he said, "Thank you for coming so quickly. Place Dawlish under arrest, please."

Spat reappeared next to Harry, followed by a flash of flame that marked the entrance of the Headmaster and Fawkes. "What do we have here, I wonder?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

Harry turned to the house-elf, gestured toward McElvoy, and asked, "Spat, is this one the 'Not-Quite-As-Nasty Auror Man'?"

"This one is the very same, Harry Potter sir. He was with Nasty Auror Man and Noble Miss Bones," said Spat.

The Headmaster said, "You can let Mr. Dawlish down now, Harry."

"I didn't put him there, Headmaster. Auror Dawlish set off the staff wards and was banished from my quarters," Harry said.

Dumbledore crooked an eyebrow at that. "I see... Mr. McElvoy, I am curious as to why one of my house-elves would refer to you as – ahem – 'Not-Quite-As-Nasty Auror Man'? I take it this relates to young Miss Bones in some fashion?"

McElvoy flushed at the neck. He said, "Er... Auror Dawlish may have been a bit harsh with Miss Bones, sir, although he didn't agree with me on that."

Dumbledore turned to Spat and directed, "Young elf, please relate the circumstances under which you came to call Mr. McElvoy by that name."

Spat scratched his head and tugged at one ear before he said hesitantly, "Spat does not understand all of the Headmaster's words..."

Harry pointed at Dawlish and said to Spat, "Tell the Headmaster the same thing you told us about the Nasty Auror Man." Spat nodded furiously and repeated his accusations.

Dumbledore dispelled Harry's silencing charm from Dawlish with the waggle of a finger and barked, "Explain yourself, immediately!"

Dawlish narrowed his eyes at the Headmaster, which had all the effect of a stare-down against a rock. "I followed interrogation procedure at all times," he said, with as little respect in his voice as he could give.

"Is that so? In your understanding, who sits _in loco parentis _for the students of Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked coldly.

Harry could feel a shudder of nervousness in the Auror, who replied with much less certainty in his voice, "That would be the Headmaster, sir."

The Headmaster said, "Yes, it would indeed. So, why is it that I was first notified of your activities today by one of my house-elves?"

McElvoy piped up, "We failed to notify you, sir. I should have done that while Auror Dawlish proceeded with his orders."

Dumbledore's attention shifted palpably from one Auror to the other. "Who is the senior Auror present?" he asked.

"That would be Auror Dawlish – " said McElvoy.

Dumbledore cut him off, "Then it is Auror Dawlish's failure entirely. What were your orders, Auror Dawlish?"

"We were ordered by the Head Auror to confirm the whereabouts last evening of those students with questionable alibis for the four prior killings," Dawlish said.

"Then why were you in my apprentice's quarters?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry heard and felt the hint of danger in the Headmaster's voice, but Dawlish did not. "Potter can freely come and go from Hogwarts. He's a known killer. That makes any alibi he offers a questionable one. He's either responsible or knows who is," the Auror said.

"And does the Head Auror agree with your conclusion regarding Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked.

"As the Auror-in-charge of this investigation, it is my responsibility to interpret the Head Auror's orders and to implement them," said Dawlish.

Dumbledore snapped his fingers and Dawlish fell to the floor. He then let loose a pulse of magic that hinted at enormous power, and said, "Get out of my castle, Mr. Dawlish. Get out and do not return unless I give permission for you to do so. I will be in contact with Mr. Scrimgeour and Madam Bones regarding disciplinary action. Is there anything in my order that requires interpretation?"

Dawlish made a show of straightening his robes, and then took two attempts to free his wand from the stone wall. He said to the Headmaster, "You won't always be there to protect Potter, sir. He's bad business, and he'll eventually come to a bad end – mark my words."

Dumbledore radiated so much magic into the corridor that Harry could actually feel the pressure of it. As he advanced on Dawlish, the Headmaster said in an even tone, "You would be unwise to make an enemy of my apprentice, Mr. Dawlish; he will be one of the greatest wizards of his age, if not the greatest. Also, if you ever again treat any of my students as you treated them today, then you will make an enemy of _me_ – and though I am nearing the end of a long life, I assure you that I am a most formidable enemy."

McElvoy took his shocked colleague by the arm and managed to say, "We'll be going now, Headmaster... our, uh, apologies for the disruption..."

"I had previously planned to do a bit of tinkering with the castle wards today, Mr. McElvoy. It would be for the best that you exit the building in ten minutes or less," Dumbledore said. McElvoy merely nodded and dragged Dawlish for a half-dozen strides until he recovered his senses enough to keep pace.

Hermione squeezed Harry's shoulders and said, "Breathe...," so he did.

"I am sorry that you were subjected to such treatment, Harry... and you as well, Miss Granger. There is no place for such behaviour in a civil society," Dumbledore said.

Hermione shrugged. "This was nothing. I've been called a mudblood by other students for five and a half years, Professor. This wasn't the first time I've been belittled, and it won't be the last."

"It is nonetheless cruel and entirely wrong-headed," Dumbledore countered.

Hermione said, "I really can't be bothered with it. This is a bankrupt culture, so it's no more and no less than what I expect."

Dumbledore took on a vaguely grandfatherly expression; "Surely you don't believe that," he said amiably.

Hermione said, "If it weren't for Harry and for our friends, I doubt I'd be willing to take part in this war. I certainly won't do it to defend the status quo. V-Voldemort can have wizarding Britain, if it's to stay as it is." That took Harry aback.

For his part, Dumbledore was shocked into silence. It took several seconds for him to ask, "You would leave people to such fates as they would face under Voldemort's rule?"

"England isn't the only country on Earth. My family has already left and it wouldn't bother me to follow. Anyone else could do the same," said Hermione.

Dumbledore said, "It's not so simple as that, Miss Granger. During his last rise, Voldemort was essentially able to seal our borders."

"Are you saying that if I were to stop using my wand, to purchase a ticket for the Chunnel, and to head across to France, that somehow V-Voldemort would make me fall from the train halfway across the Channel?" Hermione asked.

Dumbledore began, "Certainly you could avail yourself of Muggle transportation, but –"

"Then the borders weren't sealed, Headmaster – not to anyone with a bit of sense, a bit of Muggle currency, and some help from a Muggle-born," Hermione cut him off.

"Firstly, it isn't quite as simple as all that for a wizard with no Muggle propers to obtain a passport. More importantly, Voldemort's men attacked Iceland, the Faroe Islands, the Normandy coast, Belgium, and Holland during the last rise. He shan't stop with Britain, of course," Dumbledore insisted.

Hermione said, "That was twenty years ago, and things have changed a lot in the Muggle world. He could never do that again without altogether ignoring the Statute for Secrecy, and if he does that, then the entire magical world will come for him."

Dumbledore smiled slightly and said, "I believe you are overestimating the magical world's resolve."

"Harry told me that the Prime Minister threatened to tell other people in the government about us. Even if my parents and me usually disagree with the Tories, there's no doubting that Mr. Lowell isn't afraid of a fight. Look at what he's done with the Irish and the Scots – do you really think he'd hesitate to take us on? My mum and dad say that the Queen's even more stubborn than Mr. Lowell. It wouldn't take long for the Muggles to deal with us. Three good-sized bombs could bring magical Britain to an end," Hermione observed.

"And how would the people with these bombs locate us?" Dumbledore asked; "Muggles cannot identify or approach Hogwarts. Diagon Alley is Unplottable; like the house at Grimmauld Place, it is effectively outside of the Muggle world. The Ministry for Magic is at the heart of London and heavily warded."

"Are you familiar with dynamite, Headmaster?" asked Hermione.

"I am familiar with it, yes. I have even seen a few sticks of dynamite exploded," Dumbledore said.

"Magic interferes with electricity, but ambient magic can't interfere with chemical reactions; if it did, about half of all potions ingredients would fail to work. That means that the Floo or portkeys can transport dynamite without harming it. What would happen if a few tonnes of dynamite were exploded inside Diagon Alley?" Hermione mused.

Dumbledore blanched, but still countered, "Such a plan would require the help of quite a few wizards, and I find it hard to imagine that many would aid or abet such an act."

"What if it were to keep Diagon Alley out of the hands of V-Voldemort? What then?" Hermione asked.

"It is no less horrific," Dumbledore said.

Hermione went on, "As for Hogwarts, you're thinking in two dimensions, Headmaster. A Muggle bomb would be delivered by aeroplane. All it would take is one wizard or even a Squib with his hands on the trigger. For the Ministry, the Prime Minister could call a terrorist alert and clear the area, and then bomb the building atop it…"

"... and you would condone such things?" Dumbledore whispered.

"If he were to take over and there was no other option to be rid of him, then yes, I believe that I would," Hermione said plainly.

"Bombing Voldemort from the air has a bit of appeal, actually. If I were to push the button, would he die by my hand, I wonder?" Harry mused.

"If you were to explode a bomb atop Voldemort, you would kill one or more members of nearly every house of long pedigree. Wizarding Britain would never recover from that," Dumbledore said.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders and said, "Then so be it. They're the ones deciding to side with him."

Dumbledore looked her directly in the eyes and said, "You do realise, of course, that anyone who conceived and carried out such barbaric acts would be considered the worst sort of criminal by wizards across the entire world. Such a person would be hunted down, tried and executed."

Hermione returned without flinching, "I'm merely discussing the worst case scenario, Headmaster. Any plan should be tested by the worst case – it's no different than a scholar's writings in that way. I can't imagine that anyone would actually intend to destroy the institutions of wizarding Britain, not even V-Voldemort himself; if it happened, it would be a last resort because the war was lost. As for being hunted down...? Honestly, I think the wizarding world would be a bit preoccupied, since wizards would be more or less revealed to the world at that point."

Dumbledore steepled his hands and stood quietly for a time that seemed endless to Harry. When he let his arms fall, he said, "Miss Granger, I believe that you and Dr. Covelli may be exploring the arcanum more deeply than is appropriate. I can think of no other explanation for such radical views, even when presented as speculation or theory. It is beyond reason that you would suggest any society deserves to be razed to the ground, no matter the extent to which you or others have been wronged by it. The overwhelming majority of wizards and witches in Britain want nothing more than to live a common life; they have little if anything to do with politics or governance or blood feuds. If we do not stand up for them, then who will?"

"If they'd stood up for themselves twenty years ago, Headmaster, then we wouldn't be facing a war; the prophecy would be moot; and Harry and Neville would have their parents," Hermione snapped back.

Harry finally spoke up, "Professor, if things aren't changed quite a lot after this is all over, we'll be back in the same place again. Are we supposed to have one Dark Lord after the next?"

Dumbledore sighed; he gave Hermione a pointed look and said, "There will always be those amongst us who will seek any means to an end, no matter whether that end is worthy or otherwise."

"That doesn't mean we have to make it easy for the next Dark Lord," said Harry.

Dumbledore said, "Be that as it may... Miss Granger, for the foreseeable future, rather than attending your regular research period with Dr. Covelli, you will come to my chambers. We shall spend some time exploring the dark underbelly of history – both the wizarding and Muggle varieties. If you wish to indulge such brutal end scenarios, then I prefer you do so fully informed. I also demand somewhat more respect than you have shown to my staff and me in recent months. Now then, I should see after Misters McElvoy and Dawlish, as they are not making great headway toward the exit. Alas, I may have frightened Mr. Dawlish beyond his ability to keep a good pace. Good day to you." With that, he and Fawkes disappeared in a flash.

Harry's brow furrowed. "Dynamite...?" he asked Hermione.

"Are you upset with me?" she asked him.

"Upset? I suppose I'm not upset exactly... a bit freaked out, though. Explaining how to blow up Diagon Alley isn't exactly normal conversation," said Harry.

Hermione huffed, "Even the Headmaster could stand to think more broadly, Harry. If I can scheme all of that, then others can do it too."

"I'm still surprised he let you go on like that, you know? He wouldn't tolerate that much pushing from me; he probably wouldn't take it from Croaker or the Marquis, for that matter," Harry chided her.

"...and I'll go right on pushing. I should have started in on the school itself, I'm sure he would have loved that. _Croaker's_ considered a top-notch scholar, for pity's sake! What does that say about the study of magic? Have you ever stopped to think about how horrid our instruction has been, overall? Once you look beyond Transfiguration, Charms and Arithmancy, so much of it has been hopeless. Herbology's all right... Professor Sprout's capable enough, and the Hufflepuffs love her to pieces, but even she says that Neville's near to surpassing her. Professor Sinistra was a fair Astronomy teacher, I suppose, but Muggle science extends so far beyond what she knows. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how many wizards still think that the Earth is flat – " She stopped abruptly and her eyes widened.

Concerned, Harry said, "What is it...?"

"Flat... they think the Earth is flat... it's _flat_..." she mumbled as she dashed back into Harry's chambers.

By the time he caught up with her, she was at his table and combing over her parchment of runic circles. "Flat-Earth thinking... that's why they have to intersect the rune circles with a spiral... it's so obvious, someone has to have tried it before..." she murmured.

"Erm... are you all right...?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head as though to clear it, and then assured him, "No, no, I'm fine. It's just a wild hare, that's all. I should run this past Dr. Covelli, though... maybe Anthony Goldstein – he knows quite a lot about it... perhaps a post to Madam McIlvaine...?"

"Oh! I'm supposed to contact her in April, actually – she's abroad until then," Harry said.

"Is it about her family Grimoire?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, that's it. She's convinced I should have a look through it," Harry said.

Hermione nodded and said excitedly, "There must be such a wealth of information in there – can you imagine? Some of the spells and rituals are well over a thousand years old!"

"It can't hurt to have a look," Harry said; "Now, if I could figure out what to do about Gazump's stupid paper..."

"What does MacLeish have to say about it?" Hermione asked.

"Dunno... didn't really have a chance to talk to him," said Harry.

Hermione smacked him on the upper arm. "Then send him a post! You own part of the _Prophet_, after all. I should think he'd be your ally on this," she said.

Harry looked to a mounting pile of books to read and papers to grade. "I'll wait to see what comes out next," he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but was quickly absorbed again by the circles and spirals of runes. Whatever she'd seen had completely engaged her. Harry couldn't remember seeing her quite so taken in a long time. She was radiating the intensity of revision for the OWLs, but she had a maddening little smirk on her lips that he had an unreasonable desire to kiss away except for the fact that she'd likely hex him for the distraction. He gathered up a stack of third-year essays for Detheridge, and hoped that they wouldn't be quite as pathetic as the last set he'd marked.

* * *

**LONGBOTTOM'S REVENGE?**

On the third of November, 1981, You-Know-Who had been gone for three days; magical Britain was in a state of happy disarray; and the Death Eaters were desperate to know how their leader had been defeated. Senior Auror Frank Longbottom and his family were known to be targeted by You-Know-Who, and so Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband and brother-in-law, and other Death Eaters broke through the wards protecting the Longbottom's home.

Frank and Alice Longbottom were tortured by the unforgivable Cruciatus curse for as long as one hour, according to healers at St. Mungo's Hospital. To this day, the Longbottoms are residents of St. Mungo's long-term ward. Mr. Longbottom's mother, Madam Augusta Longbottom, was severely injured by a cutting curse and required months to recover. The Lestranges were captured at the close of a lengthy pitched battle against a dozen Aurors and Madam Longbottom's great-uncle, the infamous Algernon Croaker. Several Death Eaters escaped that night.

In the midst of this chaos sat Neville Longbottom, aged sixteen months.

At the beginning of his studies at Hogwarts, young Mr. Longbottom was not much of a wizard by all accounts. There were rumours in the late 1980s that he had been rendered a Squib. Some family friends to this day suggest that he was damaged by a poorly cast memory charm on that disastrous night.

The Neville Longbottom of 1997 bears little resemblance to his 1991 counterpart. Mr. Longbottom accompanied Mr. Harry Potter and four other schoolmates to a shocking encounter with suspected Death Eaters who were holding several members of prominent families under their control. According to DMLE sources, Mr. Longbottom had his own experience with the Cruciatus Curse in the Department of Mysteries. This year, Mr. Longbottom is a member of the Duelling Club at Hogwarts. He is reputedly a gifted herbologist, and is often seen handling the most dangerous plants Hogwarts has to offer. Between the duelling floor and the greenhouse, he is obviously expert with a blade.

Like Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom lost his parents to You-Know-Who and his followers. Like Mr. Potter, he has become a potent wizard. One Hogwarts student described Mr. Longbottom as a 'brutal duellist' who 'beats carnivorous plants into submission'. Another said that students are afraid to face Mr. Longbottom in Defence practicals. Like Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom has a powerful incentive to despise Death Eaters, to wish them dead.

The Daily Prophet has reported that all five men murdered by blade in the last several months were intimately connected to You-Know-Who and his operations in the 1970s and early 1980s. Who knows the identities of the Death Eaters who escaped from the Longbottom house that evening? One source is Algernon Croaker, Mr. Longbottom's great-uncle, who is currently teaching at Hogwarts. Another source is retired Auror Alastor Moody, a known associate of Mr. Potter.

Could Neville Longbottom be hunting down the former Death Eaters and their associates who were responsible for the incapacitation of his parents? Could Harry Potter be aiding his revenge? Most wizards could understand their desire for revenge, and frankly many wizards would join them in their desire.

Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour has investigated the members of the Hogwarts Duelling Club, to include both Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Potter. The Daily Prophet reports that Mr. Potter has been cleared of committing the killings, but a source within the Auror Corps hints that Mr. Potter's actions are nonetheless suspicious. Mr. Longbottom is one of eight persons associated with the Duelling Club who remain under investigation, according to the same source.

Our very way of life depends upon keeping good order. Without it, we risk the revealing of our existence to the Muggle world. Our society cannot tolerate vigilantism, no matter the reasons and no matter the stature of the vigilantes. If Neville Longbottom is in fact avenging his parents and if Harry Potter or others are somehow aiding him, then all must be stopped and all must be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

_The Watcher_, March 15, 1997

* * *

**DMLE ENQUIRY INTO KILLINGS EXPANDS TO HOGWARTS**

_**Several students already cleared, more to follow**_

Members of the Auror Corps, led by Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, paid a visit to Hogwarts on March 13 in order to question members of the school's Duelling Club. "Given that a sword or similar blade has been used in all of the killings, it was logical for us to investigate the largest concentration of accomplished swordsmen in England," according to Mr. Scrimgeour.

As part of the enquiry, Aurors spoke with Miss Hannah Abbott, 17; Mr. Elston Betancourt, 18; Miss Susan Bones, 17; Miss Holly Bruce, 18; Mr. Robert Cadwallader, 18; Mr. Anthony Goldstein, 17; Mr. Gregory Goyle, 17; Miss Daphne Greengrass, 17; Miss Morag McDougal, 17; Mr. Adrian Pucey, 18; Mr. Ronald Weasley, 17; and five under-aged wizards or witches. In addition, Aurors interviewed Club manager Mr. William Weasley, 29; and Club instructor and former Auror N. Tonks, 23. Mr. Scrimgeour also met with Mr. Harry Potter, 16; and Miss Hermione Granger, 17.

Mr. Scrimgeour reported that most of those interviewed could not have participated in one or more of the killings, and are thus unlikely suspects at best. Specifically, the Head Auror announced that among the students, Miss Abbott, Mr. Betancourt, Miss Bones, Miss Bruce, Miss Granger, Mr. Pucey and three under-aged wizards or witches were immediately ruled out as suspects. Mr. Harry Potter has also been ruled out as a suspect by the DMLE.

Mr. Scrimgeour would not confirm whether Mr. Neville Longbottom was one of the under-aged wizards in question, or even if Mr. Longbottom had been interviewed. Mr. Longbottom is known to be a member of the Duelling Club and has been the subject of wild speculations in recent days.

The DMLE expects to conclude the Hogwarts phase of its investigation in the next two weeks.

the _Daily Prophet_, March 15, 1997

* * *

**(He didn't put a date on this one but it has to go mid March to mid April - AMP)**

Harry reached the last step and walked out onto the top of the Astronomy Tower. Just as he'd been told, Neville was leaning against the parapet and staring off into space.

"Scared off the snoggers, eh?" Harry said.

"Looks that way," Neville returned without turning away from the stars.

Harry said, "Er... it's a long way down, isn't it?"

"I'm not going to jump," Neville laughed.

Harry braced himself against the parapet next to Neville. "It's pretty cold out here," he said.

Neville blurted out, "It's better than being in there. It was like this for you during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, wasn't it?"

"It's always been like that for me. Everyone expects something from me, and they don't like it when I do something unexpected," Harry said.

"I didn't do it, not any of it, and I don't know who did," Neville told him.

"I never thought you did," Harry told him in return.

"Doesn't mean I'm not glad they're dead," Neville added.

Harry said, "I suppose I can understand that. For what it's worth, I didn't do any of it, either."

"Never thought it, not once. Besides, you wouldn't bother with a sword – you'd melt them or blow them to bits or something," Neville said.

"Let's go inside. We'll go to my quarters; you won't be bothered there," said Harry.

Neville mused, "Maybe I should go and find Susie. She... oh, bugger. Now, don't you say a word, Harry – "

"Me? Who do you think I am: Finnigan?" Harry teased him.

"Fair enough. It's just that... I swear, Harry, just spending time with Susie sees me right! She's... well, she's perfect. I figured you'd understand, what with Hermione and all..." Neville said unsteadily.

Harry thought for a moment and then said, "I suppose I do, but I doubt it's quite the same. Hermione and me, we've known each other for such a long time... it's like... it's like she's the old cloak you'll always pull down first because it's warmer than all the rest, or... I don't know..."

"Shut it, Harry," Neville said quietly.

Harry went on without missing a beat: "...it's... it's like she's a really comfortable pair of trainers, the kind that are all broken in and you never want to take off..."

Neville whispered forcefully, "For the love of Merlin, _shut it_!"

"She's right behind me, isn't she?" said Harry. When Neville gave an ashen-faced nod, he added, "Well... it's a good thing she knows I'm pants at talking about feelings and that sort of thing, eh?"

Hermione said, "I'm an old pair of shoes, am I?"

Harry did his best to keep his shoulders from reflexively rising. "Er... I meant it in a good way – you know that, right...?" he said cautiously.

"I do know what you were trying to say. _Honestly_, a pair of trainers..." she huffed.

"Am I forgiven?" he asked.

"I suppose so. You're like... like... oh, I don't know. I'll think of something horrid, just give me a few minutes," she returned.

"I'm ready to go inside now," Neville said with a sigh.

Hermione gave him a chaste hug and told him, "No one who knows you is taking this seriously, Neville. There are a few people at Harry's rooms, but they're all the right sort."

Harry frowned; "You were there for quite a while, weren't you?" he asked her.

"I might have been. Now, let's get out of this chill," she said.

The first person to rise from a chair when they walked into Harry's front room was Susan Bones. She quickly pulled Neville into an embrace and said, "Don't you disappear like that!" Harry quickly looked away to hide his grin; with the Marauder's Map available, it wasn't as though Neville could actually hide away in the castle.

Justin Finch-Fletchley looked up from a book and said gamely, "Good to see you, Longbottom. Don't let the jackals around here get you down, right?"

Neville eyed him suspiciously and said, "You don't think I did it, then?"

Justin set his book down on Hannah Abbott's lap – which drew a flustered harrumph – and returned, "Of course I don't – it's ridiculous on its face... not that you haven't got the will or the skill, but it's just not something you'd do. Look, I made a mistake in second year: I bought into the rumours about Harry, and look how that turned out. I'll not make the same mistake twice."

Morag McDougal, who was poring over a series of incomprehensible parchments on the dining table, said matter-of-factly, "Whomever is killing these men is more cold-blooded than you'll ever be, Longbottom. If you'd done it, you'd be wallowing in guilt. Tony and Holly and I have been quick to jump on the rumours in our common room, and we'll keep on doing it." With that she returned her attention to the reams of mind-boggling formulae.

Anthony Goldstein stood next to her, with one of the parchments in hand. "It's not fair you're caught up in this, Neville – you don't deserve it," he said.

"I asked Ron Weasley to fetch your books. I don't know about you, but I'm behind on my Herbology paper," Susan said to Neville.

Neville put on a satisfied grin. "I should be able to help you with that," he said.

"I'll get back to marking these papers, then. Have fun with the Ravenclaws, Hermione," Harry said with a smirk.

Without looking up from the table, Morag said, "At least we have a variety of pursuits. It's all brooms and battles with your lot."

"Don't forget marking papers," said Justin; "I see a lot of red ink there... whose papers are they?"

"Fourth-year Defence, and they're rubbish," Harry said.

Anthony smirked, "You aren't exactly a scholar, Harry. They must be really awful."

"Oi! I had the best Defence OWL score in 150 years, so I'm not the village idiot, either," Harry protested. He vanished the student's name from the paper atop the stack and waved it at Anthony.

"What, you want me to look it over?" Anthony asked.

"See for yourself – this one's classic. I don't know if it's because they didn't learn anything last year, or if they're just dunderheads, but most of the papers have been like this," Harry said.

Anthony quickly read through the paper, and then read it again. "Dunderheads," he concluded.

Justin said, "Gads, you both sound like Snape! I wonder how the old bat's doing, anyway? A few students are claiming he's still lurking around in the castle." Harry resisted temptation and kept his mouth shut; he did cast a brief but sharp glance at Hermione.

The room quieted after that, as everyone descended into their work. Harry was putting the finishing red check marks on the twenty-second parchment from the fourth-year Gryffindors and contemplating the value of a repeat year for the whole lot, when Morag let loose a long huff of frustration.

"Granger, I actually want to give an opinion on your work, but I _can't_. I don't like to admit I'm over matched, but there you are. Ask me again when I've completed a Mastery in runes," she said reluctantly; "Haven't you asked Croaker to review it?"

"Croaker loathes me," Hermione said bluntly.

Morag said, "That's a problem, isn't it? Tony, you're our rank expert... can you follow this?"

Anthony sat up stiffly in his chair and said, "Yeah, I think I can, actually... I've seen some of these sequences before, but the architecture... it's unheard-of. It's so obvious, though. Hermione, if you're right about this and it works, it could change the whole practice of warding. I've got about a million questions, but you've got my attention. Is this the work that Professor Croaker made you quit?"

"It's a variation on it," said Hermione.

Anthony looked back to one of the sheets on the table and asked, "When can I start asking questions, then?"

Hermione made eye contact with Harry and then replied, "Let's take this to the library or the Great Hall, all right?"

Harry caught Neville as he was about to leave with Susan and the rest of the students, and quietly asked him to stay behind. As soon as everyone else had left and the door was closed, Neville asked, "Now what's this about?"

Harry wasn't sure how to begin. He settled for saying, "It's not easy to be a friend of mine, Neville, and it's only going to get worse. The Marquis had a talk with me before the Yule break, and the Headmaster's told me more or less the same thing. You know that some of the papers have been calling me The Chosen One. The goblins call me that, too –"

"Are you trying to find out if I'm on your side? 'Cause if you are, then the answer's 'yes' – of course I am," Neville said.

Harry pressed on, "It's a bit more than that, actually. When the Headmaster defeated Grindelwald, he had a group of wizards and witches who helped him. They were a team, see?"

"I know my dad was an Auror, but... Gran hit the sherry a bit hard once, and... well, she said that my mum and dad were part of another group back in the day, some sort of Order...? That's what you're doing, isn't it?" Neville returned.

"That's it exactly," Harry said.

Neville immediately said, "If you're asking, then I'm in."

"It's going to be hard. The sodding _Watcher_ already thinks we're killers, the both of us. Can you imagine what they'd say if they found out about this? I can see it now: 'Longbottom joins Potter's army'. Do you really want to get crossed up in that?" Harry asked him.

Neville said, "I'm not letting some stupid paper decide for me what's right and wrong. Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said.

Neville asked, "I figure this Chosen One business is the truth, it makes too much sense not to be. V-Voldemort was after your parents and mine at the same time. It could have been me, couldn't it?"

"It was going to be one of us, yeah," Harry admitted.

"If it was me, and not you... would you have been on my team, part of my Order?" Neville asked him.

"Yes," Harry said without a moment's hesitation.

"So why's it any different for me? Like I said, I'm in," said Neville.

Harry felt a small weight lifted and said, "Thank you."

"How big is this Order going to be?" asked Neville.

"Me and twelve others," Harry said.

Neville said, "It's an honour. Is it all right for me to ask who else is in?"

"I've only talked to Ron so far," said Harry.

Neville's eyes widened; he said, "Really? Er... wow... it really _is _an honour. I'd have thought you would have been to Hermione first, though."

Harry said, "Hermione isn't part of it. She'll be there alongside, but everyone says she has something else to do."

"Makes sense, I suppose," Neville said with a shrug; "So what's this Order called, then?"

"The Knights of St. Peter," said Harry.

Neville goggled, "Knights? Gran will be surprised by that – me, a knight, and to Harry Potter no less!"

Harry chuckled and said, "It's not as though I'm allowed to knight people, but that's the name we're using. There will be an oath, Neville, and I'd rather you didn't talk about this until that's done. We'll do the oath after everyone's on board. The Marquis says it's bad luck to take the oath last, so it's arranged that none of us will know who that is."

"I'll take whatever oath you ask, because I know it'll be a fair one. I'm in this to the end, Harry," Neville promised.

"If you're willing, I'd like five names from you, of people who you think should be part of this," Harry said.

"You'll have it by morning, but... I have to ask you something: whom do you think is talking to the papers?" said Neville.

"I haven't thought about that; I probably should, though," Harry admitted.

"It has to be someone in the Duelling Club, but I can't imagine who. I don't think it's Malfoy, though - the papers haven't been very kind to him this time," said Neville.

"I don't think it's Malfoy, either, but you're right - it has to be someone from the Club," Harry agreed; then he realised there was one more important thing to bring up: "Um... there's one more thing, and you might not like it..."

Neville gave him a curious look and said, "All right..."

Harry said uneasily, "It's like this: with knights and orders and such, there's a token – something everyone is given, right? Well, erm, it's not the best thing, but the Marquis sort of did it on his own..."

"It can't be that bad, can it?" Neville asked.

"It's a sword," Harry said quickly.

Neville paled and managed to say, "Rotten luck, that..."


End file.
